Geese At Sunset

Every night they float by—nine little goslings and six geese. I think they’re three families, although I can’t be sure.

I stand on the riverbank watching the sun, in whatever version of glory it's chosen for the night, sink beneath the surface. Then as if by magic, I see them appear.

At first they happen on the surface of the water like dots. Then as the current pulls them closer, it's as if I’ve become privy to a family happily on a picnic, oblivious to those watching as they chat amongst themselves.

I stand there, trying to tell who belongs to whom. I think they are a family of eight, another of four, and another with an only child. But just when I think I’ve figured it all out, they shift positions--adults chatting amongst themselves, somehow keeping track of the little ones twirling and circling about in the current.

What I like most about when I see them is watching the little ones trying to keep up. They kick and swim with all their might, then suddenly an unexpected current or downspout in the water crops up, and they’re off!

Sometimes I feel like those goslings. Just when I think I’ve got everything arranged just right to go forward, some big current scoops me up and whisks me away, far enough from where I thought I was "supposed" to be to make life adventurous.