Still pond, silent geese,
Marin morning overcast;
now: random honking.

And I pause in mid stride,
heart already a-wing,
awing,
anticipating:

A flurry of splashing wings,
webbed feet walking on water,

then gaggle after gaggle lifts off,
skirts the treed embankment,
rises westward over the marsh,
arcs south,
gradually fades out of sight,
sound.

Of course I wish to join them,
become one with this flock,
find my place as we trace graceful diagrams into the sky,
relish my bird’s eye view,
wind in face,
working my wings in joy, and pride,

while always alert
for the change in tone
that signals
our approaching
descent.