On the grayest, darkest

most dismal day in December

when many raindrops fell

heavy and collected thickly

suspending themselves

onto the very tips of large pine

needles each one trembling

a fragile hanging teardrop

just waiting

for a reason to fall.

When laurel leaves slouched

weighted down with so much snow,

slush, and sorrow

out of nowhere

a tiny brilliant goldfinch

flits in like a luminous celestial ray

alighting onto a wet branch

a jolt of light his wings

he liltingly sings

shaking off raindrop

sparks from head to tail.