like this morning, when the wild geese came squawking,
flapping their rusty hinges, and something about their trek
across the sky made me think about my life, the places
of brokenness, the places of sorrow, the places where grief
has strung me out to dry. And then the geese come calling,
the leader falling back when tired, another taking her place.
Hope is borne on wings. Look at the trees. They turn to gold
for a brief while, then lose it all each November.
Through the cold months, they stand, take the worst
weather has to offer. And still, they put out shy green leaves
come April, come May. The geese glide over the cornfields,
land on the pond with its sedges and reeds.
You do not have to be wise. Even a goose knows how to find
shelter, where the corn still lies in the stubble and dried stalks.
All we do is pass through here, the best way we can.
They stitch up the sky, and it is whole again.
Barbara Crooker, from Radiance
5 comments:
Nice thinking going on here.
Last year, I think, I was so amazed to be standing outside my apartment when a flock of Canada geese creaked by overhead. Their wings, their feathers, their breath making honks, what a noisy bunch of creatures! I of course thought, how can they be airborne in the first place, weighing around 8-10 pounds each? Just comparing them to those Thanksgiving birds by weight, that is.
Listening to the amazing geese, watching the turning trees all helps to remind me we are here and like them....we are okay...thank you for the reminder.
The calls of wild geese never fail to move me. Beautiful photo!
Mary
Simply perfect... thank you!
Post a Comment