The Storm

Sailing boats, out of the water for the winter, as though lined up against an impending storm. All their halliards shaking vigorously, sounding like birds in flight. Low tide and the wild geese, further out in the water today, are almost hidden behind a long natural breakwater. I hear them honking for the first time, muted, in the distance, drifting in gently on the wind, sounding like in slow motion. Then, between the rocks they enter the mudflats, sailing in like many ships heading for harbour - an armada of geese. There’s a dampness in the air that clings to reality like an odour. The weather is changing, and later on, much later, as though greeting an unexpected friend, the rain will arrive. The storm passes and as night descends, the vapour trail from an aircraft, which has a pleasant orange glow, tracks its demise. Early next day, on a calm February morning, geese are again visiting the estuary. I hear them outside as I lie in bed. Later, walking through a spring like idyll, small birds bloom on bare trees.