To Be a Goose

I when I got home today, I had had it with all this stuffy, cooped-up being inside. Ugh. Triple ugh. And so.

On went the long johns and the thick corduroys and the three undershirts and the hulking wool sweater and the two pairs of socks and the new hiking boots and the gloves and the down coat and the alpaca hat (it was 38 degrees outside, after all). And I made my beeline, friends.

Into the woods, that's where I went. The placid, fathomless, spectral, restorative woods. I climbed down to the edge of a stream, burrowed into a cushy mound of frozen sticks, and had a sit-down with myself. We worked through some twisted-up inside stuff, resting by that stream, myself and I. And then, on down the trail. I found a tree fallen across the stream, which I will surely cross when the water is no longer cold enough to kill me with its breath, and a random old stairway to nowhere. Yes. Right in the middle of the woods.

And then.

Honk. Honk honk.

Honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk.

I look to the sky, and hundreds of geese are passing overhead. Hundreds! I've never seen so darn many geese! They darkened the sky with the expanse of their collective. They were headed toward the lake, and, thus, so was I. Wait for me, geese! I cried to them (not really).

And they beat me. By the time I got to the lake, it was covered with geese geese geese, gazillions of geese, all honking and preening and waddling and flapping and snuggling. I settled down on a stone and watched. And listened. They all knew I was there. The closest geese flapped in my direction at first, and turned to honk a warning to their chums. But I didn't move, and they got cozier with me, closer. And then, the symphony. Have you ever heard geese singing? Well, I have. Back and forth, across throng, they honked their little goose-hearts out, in rhythm, a melody. They'd quiet down to a whisper and then crescendo up to a roar, honkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonkhonk!

And never have I wanted so much to be a goose. Geese are never alone. They always have each other, they roam together, the strongest breaking the wind resistance for the weakest, no one ever being left behind. Oh friends, I wish we were all geese, so we could just drop our defenses and be together, all of us, waddling and preening and singing together, eating and sleeping and flying together. If we were geese, I could shroud a fallen comrade with my wings, shield her from the rain, help her to rest, and then nudge her with my beak back up into the starry sky. How I wish none of my friends ever felt like she was facing the darkness alone. I wish it with every tiny bit of my heart.

It started to get dark, so when the goose song ended, I got up to leave. And as I walked away, the geese honked as resounding goodbye to me. They had voted me in, as an honorary goose. I sure will miss my new family. Godspeed to them on their journey to Gooseland.