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.
Copyright © Ed Rogers | Year Posted 2016
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