birds

We thought ourselves alone and separate, the unique possessors of these streets. But there are two thinking beings in this town that we called ours.

Also invisible but invariably present at some indefinable distance are the mourning doves whose plaintive call suggests irresistibly a kind of seeking-out, the attempt by separated souls to restore a lost communion.

Do we have a more brilliant goldfinch? Only one that fades. Do we have more golden birds? Only furtive natives of the tropics, who spend more time away than here. So when you ask what bird shines brightest in California’s amber and green seasons, the answer is this goldfinch, who neither forsakes us nor grows gray.