Dave Bonta's short poem catches a few moments in a woodland as the weather changes. It begins in brightness: goldfinches flit through oak trees in bloom, and the poet compares them to advertising, a bold, showy flash of yellow that almost seems too loud. Then the clouds gather, the light dims, and the wood thrushes start singing their evening songs even though it's only midday. The birds read the darkening sky and respond.
The last image is the quietest and most surprising. Rain falls like long feathers, so the storm itself becomes a kind of bird, a plumage "the exact color of the world." The rain seems to blend with its surroundings, gray and soft and everywhere.
The speaker mostly watches and doesn't comment, which gives the poem a calm, attentive mood. There's a hint of wonder in how the scene shifts from noisy brightness to hush, and in how birds and rain begin to look like one another.