Luminous sky, crystal air bright and bracing
It is easy to write of beautiful days in April
and starry nights in August.
They are the stuff of poetry.
What of these gray December days?
Full of fog and damp
and soggy earth.
The air grabs my skin with clammy fingers
Nature slows to a crawl
Our backyard pond trembles in the cold
Not frozen, but
circled in a band of white ice, which grows and recedes
as if Mother Nature cannot make up her mind
Is it winter or not?
Canada geese are here
They are much attached to our pond
They call out to each other as they gather
Where do the geese go each evening when the cold night clouds advance upon them?
The day dies and they leave
Yet they keep flying back each morning
from who knows where?
splashing down in a song of water
They move from pond to land, to pond again
Ignoring the ducks that swim against the far shore
They graze in the grass and nap in the pale afternoon light
They have cast their lot here with us, it seems
Watching warily when we enter their backyard domain
But never leaving until dusk reminds them to find shelter for the night
There is no urgency to leave for good for some far off place
As winter's sharp retort has gone missing so far
When the December freeze finally comes
The geese go away for good
The pond, now solid,
Sits in white stillness
At rest
While the blustery wind
Sings of big gray clouds and the promise of snow.
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