Stopped under a sycamore, looked up:
bare white limbs against blue, blue sky
and in those branches, flickering, birds...
What kind of birds are you? I asked
and put on my glasses, the better to glimpse
such wing and color, such flashiness.
(lines from "For the birds:
A charm of goldfinches"
by Cecilia Woloch
Ok, so it wasn't a sycamore, it wasn't goldfinches.
They are house finch? or redpoll, but those are unlikely here.
The birds were playing and singing,
and even more unlikely that they play and sing at the local dogpark.
Forget the dogs, I want to watch these birds!