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The geese have come. They congregate in parking lots, preen and strut. Today they waddle in line as smug as fat gangsters as they slowly cross a busy road. We are not allowed to shoo them, hurry them, harry them, besides they are always bad tempered, always ready to throw a hissy fit. We wait, engines idling, feel good about being this patient, this considerate for their well-being. I wonder what they think about us; we who daily get in their way? In less sensitive times we would tuck a plump goose under an arm on our way to Christmas. Progress I guess.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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