the distracted

On the feeder seconds ago were an indigo bunting and a goldfinch.

All day the goldfinches having been coming and going, their yellow eye-hurting on a dim grey day like this. Sometimes three will be on the feeder, chirping and swallowing, and then they scroll off into the air, roiling about each other and tweeting. From where I sit, their fights are elegant and breezy. It is the ground squirrel chittering around on the porch that seems churlish and thick. The chickadees cut through it all, hitting the feeder only long enough to grab a sunflower seed and then slide off fast.

But I guess it’s mostly the body I inhabit that is churlish and thick, after sitting so long finalizing workshop plans. Would I enjoy being goldfinch yellow and sharp? Only if I could do it while remembering the weight of the computer in my lap and my butt in this chair.