migrating toward winter

at 4.16 am i'm sitting up in bed. it's dark and my daughter has just fallen back to sleep. that's when i hear it -- the eerie sound of migrating geese. it starts as a distant, faint sound -- i almost wonder if it's a memory -- but it swells and surges over the house -- a confident cry cry cry. i'm dying to rush to the window and look to see if i can make out the V of wings but she's asleep on my lap and i don't dare wake her. it lasts ages and can only mean one thing -- those first signs of an encroaching winter....

there's no denying it -- the garden knows before i do. i look at the flowers who have dropped their petals overnight and am sort of startled awake -- that time already? soon i'll be harvesting the winter veg that i put in as a 'long term' project and saying goodbye to all the soft new growth on my fruit trees.

it comes, and it goes and it keeps on rolling forward. but geese overhead take me back to my dad shouting for a younger me as i rush from wherever i am -- hurling myself down the stairs and into the backyard eyes skyward -- a migrant himself in Canada he never tires of the romance of the geese and their seasonal flight.

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