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Canada geese lined long, wide and high, speckles beneath a canopy of dirty cotton candy, quitting the summer. Clouds of grimy-windows gray. Gutter grit gray.

A taunting wind from the south, slow flying for geese. The V bends, breaks, struggles for shape. Wind from the south but with mean fingers of chill.

Beneath the geese, wind bullying the leaves from the trees. Beneath the geese, color quitting the leaves. Green quitting the fields. Now: hues of wet straw, pipe tobacco.

The geese honk into the headwind, raindrops spattering their wings like an insult. Their wings beat south, south, south, south, fainter, fainter, south, south …



( 5 comments — Leave a comment )
Oct. 28th, 2007 01:27 am (UTC)
The last two paragraphs do something I've never managed to do -- put into words how I feel when I see geese flying south at this time of year. Thank you.
Oct. 28th, 2007 02:18 am (UTC)
And thank you.
Oct. 28th, 2007 02:00 am (UTC)
...there you are. What a wallop this packs. Deliciously satisfying, thank you.
Oct. 28th, 2007 08:15 pm (UTC)
Very nice.


Oct. 28th, 2007 09:27 pm (UTC)
Thanks, Jeff. I hope all is well with you and yours.
( 5 comments — Leave a comment )

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