We drove and looked, and looked and drove.
Field after field.
No geese.
"I guess they've gone further South by now."
"I had so hoped to see the geese on this drive."
"Seems like they have been here in December before, but maybe I'm remembering November."
"I thought it was Christmas; there was that song....how long ago was that....?
maybe I was listening to Christmas music,
just earlier in the month,
on a separate trip."
Another field of water, but no geese.
No geese.
We sighed and accepted it, stopped looking out the windows,
returned our attention to each other and the conversation.
And then, a long row of trees, and beyond, another flat field.
And there they were.
Snow geese.
Hundreds? Thousands? How to know?
They humbled and rejoiced us with their numbers, their beauty, their very presence.
And as always, I remembered that other day, that other year.
The geese that appear year after year,
They might as well be angels.
Angels of a lesser order, of course, but messengers for sure.
O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing
Oh, rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
2 comments:
"They might as well be angels." YES! I believe they were, because similar (okay, lesser) angels have brought me messages so many times. Glory to God!
Yes! It's sad that most Western people have been taught not to hear such messages, or fear being thought outside the realm of sanity if they hear them and admit it.
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