Mist seems to rise from the ground up to the cloudy sky on this cold, rainy winter day. Dampness cuts through the layers and penetrate the warmth of clothing. What is there to look up to?
The telltale honking of geese travel through the sky signaling their arrival and departure. I look up to them and graceful perseverance to reach their destination; answering a call born within them that is attuned to seasons.
Canada geese in V formation
I’m sharing this poem that fits the moment and this season of the geese.
Whoosh of Wings
By Mike Nettles
The winter air, cold, dense
Penetrating to the bones
Conveys with rising crescendo
A symphonic skein of geese
Trumpeting beyond
Barren trees, shivering, huddled still.
Whirling overhead in v-formation
I hear the whoosh of wings
Cutting air, propelling sleek
Down-covered craft
To an uncertain destination.
The honking dies off, fades
Crystalline silence returns
Its rightful place restored
As if never disturbed
Clove twain by anserine arms
Fleeting sunward.
