Geese

 

I was walking in the field, 

Head down into the wind, 

Hands driving deep into my coat pockets, 

Beginning to walk up the hill,  

Back home, 

The constant January wind tiring me, 

When I heard overhead, 

The familiar squawk of geese, 

Like the bridge of a song 

I’ve heard endlessly 

The seasonal passage of birds, 

But then, the honks 

Became a cacophony, 

Peering up, from under my hat, 

I saw the two distinct Vs heading north

Collapse, 

Melting into a momentary puddle of birds, 

Before finding formation again,  

A single bird taking the point dragging the lines back to formation 

leading the flocks south, 

Away from the incoming storm, 

Away from the northern cold 

Barrelling through the field.

But why were they flying North in the first place? 

Where are they going now? 

How does that internal clarion call of nature work? 

Harkening you to faroff places your body remembers 

Traveling to? 

Were they traveling north against their better judgement? 

Do they seek the cold? 

To live in places 

Unsuitable for their small selves? 

Where shall we migrate to when we have no where else to go

When no far off place harkens us 

When we’ve ruined this one home we know 

Against our better judgement, 

When the instinct to stay 

Leads us north into further cold 

Like geese flying further afield in the winter, 

But we’ve no where to return to, 

Should we actually get ourselves in order, 

To fly as one, 

To better days.