All day long the honking of geese
as they arrive from the
breeding grounds
in Mexico or the Carolinas,
the ragged v of their
winging
as they cut across the sky
in ever increasing numbers,
the female of the species
guiding their way
to the same place every
year.
They don’t always return.
There are some that remain
in the Midwest,
taking up too much space,
forgetting how to find their
way.
Perhaps it doesn’t matter--
they are creatures of the
recent habit.
It’s not really a question
of how
to make a home for their
millions.
It begins with each nesting
pair:
travel when the urge stirs,
rest when it is necessary;
sound your arrival
in the crisp, pale air.
