Goldfinches at 18°

By John I. Blair

How can I persist
In feeling sorry for myself
When I look out the window
And see goldfinches feeding,

Perched there in the bitter air
With nothing but their feathers
To shield against the cold,
Looking happy

Just to be alive and fed.
Sticking to the basics –
That’s what I must remember
Out of all the ancient wisdom;

Living in the present moment
When food is in my beak,
No hawk swoops upon me
And cats are all asleep.

©2014 John I. Blair

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