I live out in the country and the first thing I hear in the
morning when I wake up is the sound of birds singing. It’s a great way to start
the day and I usually open my curtains and watch the tiny furry little body’s
flit and fly around my yard. In the spring, I often hear the call of wild geese
and watch the great v-shaped returning migrants fly overhead. When the fields
are full of newly melted snow, creating little lakes, the white Snow Geese and
white swans, black ducks and many more species, fly down and make themselves at
home.
One such day happened last week and I felt especially
blessed that a huge swirl of thousands of Snow Geese were settling down just
across the road from me in a field full of newly melted snow and tasty winter
wheat just barely showing its green tips. Their cacophony of honks could be
heard for miles. Since I have no near neighbors, I was enjoying this rapturous
display by myself, or so I assumed.
It was such a large group of birds, I was sure it covered
almost the length of a mile when settled on the ground. Some floated on the
water, others walked around in groups. When the birds settled down for the
night and darkness hid them from view, I knew I would have to wait till
tomorrow to see them again and I wondered if they would still be there. Sure
enough, in the morning, most of them were gone. The sky was cloudy and new snow
was falling. But there was one little group of about a hundred or more birds
still nestled down, some with their heads lifted, others still wrapped into
their warm bodies. A few were flapping their wings, as if testing the air for
liftoff.
I wondered why they never flew away with the others and as I
observed them, I saw a person stand up right in the middle of the flock. He was
talking to someone and soon another person stood up, this one holding a
gun. These hunters were very determined
with their decoy birds, camouflaged tent of birds and their patience to wait
for the flock to return.
And I learned that I wasn’t really alone when the Snow Geese
landed.
©2013 Linda Gatewood
