Goldfinches

The feeder hangs swaying,
no avian fellows alighting.
(males are the brightest; why?)
I wait and watch--they've flown I wonder where--for food?
Will their shimmering yellow return,
a harbinger of the lightening days ahead?
Indeed, one by one, I know they'll come
hungry again (still) as they've done
year after year finding food,
flying beauty, feeding me with 
their golden arrival.

Plumbline

I stray like string
in the wind
untethered from
that tight spot at the bottom
holding me in place.
Anchored there
tension provides strength
for the tune to be played--
a fiddler bows across the tautness
and chords are plied,
played as His fingers
hold me in place.
Snapped, tho', the string
aflutter, undone
there are no songs to
settle there, reverberate
with notes to carry
any kind of melody.

I've lost my place
in the music--where am I now?

Ex nihilo, a hand comes down
repairs the string.
Strong, tight, secure.
I hear the song,
remember the words
find my place in the piece
He's playing.
Words as true as forever
strumming straight, strong and sure.
~~~~
Zechariah 4:10