geese, peanuts and things unknowable.
Geese honk back in the wetland
sunset lighting up their arrival
in twos and fours, sometimes more.
Sitting in the woods
I can hear the wind coming from a distance
through the treetops
the roar like one of the great lakes.
A pair of owls hoot to each other
I look to the woodpile and wish I could chop.
Chipmunks jump through the fallen leaves
sounding like the footsteps of bear
to be less dramatic about it all.
The woods are a source of many unidentified sounds
even after ten years of listening.
It still seems a bit frightening to the city ear.
The geese begin again
this time sounding like a pack of fox
but eventually I hear the distinction
foolish me, city me
I am listening for a repeat of that night a predator found the
geese. Foxes, maybe wolves.
That was cacophony at its finest.
I squat to pee
look up to see the trees naked, bare
no doubt that the season is about the change.
Shedding their leaves
tossing them aimlessly down to the ground
Baring the wisdom of toddlers
I want to relinquish the city full of judgement
He noshes on peanuts like an
I choose to chew away the disgrace of it all.
He is immune to the pain.
12:23 the owls have returned
Last night was the arrival.
Tonight the geese departed with the sunset.
They arrived in twos and fours and sometimes more.
They departed with a V-shaped
flight. there were at least 10,
maybe 15 groups in all.
Back there. Northwest of the property.
It is a goose rendezvous, my friends.
How do they choose their groups?
is it first come first served?
do they seek the previous season's companions for the journey south?
do they seek out new friends each year?
do they feel the same feeling of
dread that humans feel when
knowing the damned obnoxious
goose is going to be in the southbound
do they rush to arrive early in hopes of joining
the loudest honkers?
the most beautiful feathers?
The woods are a constant source of
the unknown, unknowable and unidentified.