Guttural honks tell of the geese's arrival. I glance up from scraping a spring frost off my car windows, and above me in the early-morning light a pair of Canada geese flap by at treetop level. I exult in this brush with the natural world and stretch my arms skyward.
Whenever I see a duck or goose couple making their way through the atmosphere, I think of my wife and me, another couple making their way through life, some days straining against gravity, other times gliding in for easy landings on still waters.
My morning is brightened by the geese flyby; the task of scraping seems less onerous. I marvel at the thin shavings of ice curling off the window in delicate whorls that dance in the sunshine.
Down the street and around the corner, seconds into my commute, I am struck by the scene of two geese floating on a pond laced with misty sunbeams. I bet it's the same pair! No wonder they flew so low.
I yank my car to the roadside and grab a camera. Balanced on a stone wall, snap, snap, snap I go, as the geese play follow-the-leader back and forth across the pond.
Our morning reverie is briefly interrupted by a lone duck's quwick! quwick! as it glides in through the mist and lands with a splash. May the bird find its mate.