photo credit: redmillpond.org
New England poet Wally Swist captures the “avian choreography” of migrating geese in his beautifully crafted poem from the current issue of Deep Wild Journal:
November, Migration
We hear them barking beyond
the tall crowns of tulip trees above
our heads, as they emerge from
the edges of the fluttering russet
leaves, the large flock of them,
exhausted, hoarsely calling, one
after another slowing their flight,
then circling as a group, an avian
choreography, which brings them
closer to their reflections moving
along the surface of the pond. How
they lift their wings, concomitantly,
to lower themselves into
the water, to drift in free fall, each
one splashing and dragging
its body into the churning spray
they create, each one a susurration
punctuating the conclusion of its
flight, with a hiss, and their
mingling honking cries, until they
rest and bob in the waves they
launched, one by one, and as a flock,
rippling along the shore, enrapt
in a moment of silence, which washes
over them and ourselves, filling us.
What it is to see them again, what it is,
with such subtle astonishments,
for them to have flown and then landed.
Read more poems, short stories, and essays from and about wild places in Deep Wild: Writing from the Backcountry. To order a copy of our current or past issues, and to read our submission guidelines for the upcoming issue, visit deepwildjournal.com
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