Outside My Window
My golden springtime squabblers are outside of my living room window once more. They've stopped in before. Seem to enjoy bouncing and hopping in the forever green, prickly holly bushes. A newly arrived finch plays leapfrog and does the tango with the other banana colored petites.
I assess their clownish behavior. An errant yellow feather floating down- no doubt one pulled and tossed from an irate contestant. Loud articulation erupts from the ornamental shrub.
The fight of hopeful males is joined by another, yellow airborne ranger- puffed up and ready to rumble. Muscle on the rescue as the ruckus ensues. Terrible bird obscenities are being tossed around like slanderous confetti. Skirmishing erupts on an impressive scale.
The playground gone battleground; brawling beak and feathers flapping- all fighting in a falling yellow ball. The marauders fall from one limb down to the next- raucous little critters lacking in social graces.
Duller than the rest, "Finchette" flits and flashes as she launches away from the evergreen of prickly male behavior; disappearing into the blue. The yellow dancer wields the power that only a woman can exert.
The rowdies, now alone with one another, realize their desire has flown and cease their hostilities. Wizened up, they catch the scent and take flight in pursuit.
The modest lady, although in retreat, may have taken pardon, but not so distant her flight, so she can readily be found. She knows better than to give up on her springtime suitors. A female's prerogative taken. Preferences as to which sailor, and the procreation to follow, decidedly on the yellow gal's terms, but with conditions of course...