Time to Fly

The geese are flying.  I do not see them lifting from the nearby river, but their distinctive – that call and response – the hail to arise, to fly, to form up and move on – impossible to mistake.

Funny, they’ve slept in, but not really.

We humans in this part of the world ‘sprang forward’ last night, somehow ‘saving’ time (as if time could be saved – silly us, we keep trying) and in the process, losing an hour (who came up with that ad campaign?  I wonder).

Whatever we humans call this hour of the day, the geese know what time it is.

It is time to fly.

Waking Up

She's there again -- Ms. Goose -- honking her wake up message for all to hear.  And he's there too -- listening Bird, answering Bird, whistling a lovely pitch (what key is that?).

The fog hangs over the distant lake as the sun slowly moves across each droplet suspended in mid-air.

And for a moment, all is stillness.  Ms. Goose is drawing breath, Bird listens, and in the in-betweenness, a splash -- heard as clearly as if I were the one diving into the so-cold water -- travels across the distance from lake to me.

That sound -- that single quiet splash in the even quieter morning -- vivifies . . . everything.

I am alive.

And it is a good day.

Wake Up!

The first bird I hear -- not the first to speak, surely -- this morning, is a lone goose, honking persistently into the quiet of sun newly risen, fog quietly leaving,

Wake up!  

Get up!

It's time to get moving!

We have flying to do!

The answer he receives is not from his own kind.

Perhaps it is a crow -- but if so, she's feeling awfully sweet and tender this morning.  Or maybe it is a starling -- more full-voiced than she has ever been.

Whatever the bird, Goose honks and Bird answers and nothing is resolved.

Each then flies their own way, Goose trusting the other geese to follow, Bird neither knowing or caring, knowing only that the flock will be there in the trees when she retires tonight.

What a wonderful way to begin a day.