Goldfinches

                                                     In the fields

                                              we let them have---

                                                   in the fields

                                               we don't want yet---

                                                 where thistles rise

           out of the marshlands of spring, and spring open---

                                                          each bud

                                         a settlement of riches---

                                         a coin of reddish fire---

                                                        the finches

                                             wait for midsummer,

                                                  for the long days,

                                                   for the brass heat,

               for the seeds to begin to form in the hardening thistles,

                                             dazzling as the teeth of mice,

                                                                   but black,

                                           filling the face of every flower.

                                             Then they drop from the sky.

                                                            A buttery gold,

                                          They swing on the thistles,  they gather

                                                     the silvery  down,  they carry it

                                                               in their finch beaks

                                                              to the edges of the fields,

                                                                    to the trees,

                                           as though their minds were on fire

                                       with the flower of one perfect idea---

                                               and there they built their nests

                                                      and lay their pale-blue eggs,

                                                                        every year,

                                                                    and every year

                                  the hatchlings wake in the swaying branches

                                                              in the silver baskets,

                                                               and love the world.

                                               Is it necessary to say any more?

            Have you heard them singing in the wind,  above the final fields?

                                     Have you ever been so happy in your life?

                                                                                                                                       --Mary Oliver

                                                                           ***********************

Dear family and friends of Elizabeth,

     Yesterday Patrick arrived on my doorstep with a beautiful photograph of Elizabeth basking in the beauty of her dahlia gardens--which now hangs in my kitchen where each day I spend lots of  time.  It was a comfort to have Patrick visit my 100 year old West Seattle cottage. Patrick knows its imperfections by heart because eleven years ago he took on the huge task of updating it.   I was pleased, too,  that my son, Mark, was able to join us for scones, coffee-- and lots of catch-up talk about children, ladders and sailing.  

As Patrick drove away, I promised him I would communicate his thoughts to you today.

       --He is most pleased with Elizabeth's Celebration of Life.  He believes that because of your efforts and loyalty,  her Celebration turned out just as Elizabeth had wished.    And for that,  he is  grateful.

      --He would like you to know, too, that if you wish to have copies of Judy, Roger and/or Tim's eulogy, he has them stored on his computer.  If you reach out to Patrick at 1vgcove@gmail.com,  he will happlily forward them to you.   He is also willing to mail a thumb drive.  Should  you wish to have the photos and texts that were projected onto the large screen, email Patrick your address.  

                                                                                 ************************

Please  know that it has been my  honor to take up Elizabeth's pen and communicate with you.  Should you wish to continue corresponding,  you will find me at jkcromett@comcast.net.

With gratitude and love for our Elizabeth,

Judy Cromett