Migrating (Late Early April)
Geese fly north. They occupy whatever turfed land they can find. The nightly rain comes and melts away their droppings—bonus mud. Pond and stream, any modest body of water, becomes clouded with their effluent, hatching giardia and cryptosporidium, natural purgatives, good for an overburdened stomach. Even more remedies are on offer. Their honking carries across the soccer pitch, across the community college forecourt, to reach housebound professionals, in their condominiums and townhomes—a chance to recenter. The student of mindfulness, the meditator, secular or religious, can learn a lot from a goose. Their wellbeing arises spontaneously. They need no prerecorded chime or cascade, no footage of a sylvan glen, no push notifications to stretch, to phone loved ones, to eat ketogenic meals. The goose offers unvarnished presence, it is as it is, as animals are. To be perfectly within oneself is to honk and bleat, to snap at every passerby, to fly above, in perfect formation, the earth melting from its icy cage.