Fall: Hope on the Wing

In Canada, as lifeless, lustrous leaves litter lake and land,
I savour crisp cold air and survey my limited domain from my simmering hot tub.

I hear their calls.
I scan the sky.
I view the vee:

Geese

in wavering lines
wend their way south,
occasionally north, east or west.
Lost? Disoriented? Seeking known shelter?

Who fails to be touched by their odyssey, their innocence,
their beating hearts and wings,
their iconic shape and pattern,
their white, black and tan,
necks stretched full in hope of safe landing?

How must it be, driven by instinct,
to commence such a journey?
Facing danger, bad winds, bad luck.
Yet rarely alone as many are mated
For life in this fixated flock.
Their calls, though clear,

recede as they advance away from me
and disappear from sight.

Across the lake, gun fire echoes.

These fantastic photos are from born 1945 and Smelter Mountain via Flickr