By Joseph Hesch
Outside, early morning, mid-December
and the howling wind is strumming a
C-chord through the trees.
Even above that din, I hear
the familiar tones overhead.
There, moving in a diagonal,
like a sidewinder snaking south,
or a streamer of mercury sliding across
a wobbly zinc tabletop,
are half a hundred Canada geese.
And I shiver. Not because of the wind
and December’s cold, but because
the unspeaking natural world had
once again addressed a question
I hadn’t even known I was asking.
The question I couldn’t
speak or write is answered across
the December sky in that language
without words, the one that speaks
more truth than that of Man:
It’s never too late.
As I was working outside the other day, I heard in the distance something I used to not hear until it was just above my head (if at all). There, in ragged V winging south, was the first company of migrating Canada Geese I’d seen this Fall. I’m not sure why, but that incessant honking sound, some overlapping the others as if they were sound shadows, stirs some visceral response in me. I feel somehow energized and inspired. And so I was this time. Seeing them put me in mind of another group I had seen last year. I write about those travelers here.