They flew overhead all day long, the sun glinting off their wings. We must have been right on their flight path since they came repeatedly, even into the night. “Honk” “Honk” “Honk!”
I am completely mesmerized by migrating geese. Sometimes they fly high in V formation, a small black necklace in the sky. Other times they fly low enough to see their glinting white bellies and hear their throaty calls. They soar with such freedom, transitioning seamlessly from the north to the south.
The beauty of transition is now ever present in New England. Trees in their stunning hues herald a glorious end to this cycle, even as their leaves begin the inevitable descent to the ground. Chipmunks squirrel away nuts and perennials die another death.
I find myself inspired by nature’s example. May I too, like a sugar maple, surrender to the season without resistance. May I too revel in impermanence and flow with change. May I too, like our Canadian feathered friends, open my heart to autumn’s call.
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