Seasonal Appropriation

Yesterday the daytime atmosphere
smothered of light, dark with
blue-black bruised clouds scudding
across the sky under assault of an
icy wind slanting heavy rain horizontally
like a displaced ocean, and we stuck fast
in our houses to escape the deluge,
feeling like aquarium-dwelling fish.

But today the sun teases out from
behind those same bruised clouds loath
to dissipate. That golden orb twinkles
light then disappears, engaged in a
game of its own playing now-you-see-me,
now-you-don't against the blasting winds.
The rain is no more, to be certain; in its
place ice crystals falling, searing
unprotected blossoms in a fiery grip
of frozen fierceness.

And we wonder, whatever happened
to the pair of goldfinches we saw this
morning, the glory of their song lighting
the dark day, the sun's ardent kiss
briefly illuminating the bold yellow
of their tiny breasts. Do they now regret
their rash flight, returning to this
seasonal unruliness?