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