“The higher we soar the smaller we appear to those who cannot fly.” - Friedrich Nietzsche
I’ve been meaning to tell you about a conference I attended recently at the business park near my home. I hadn’t planned to go, but in the end had little choice. Dusk was falling and it would’ve taken me almost an hour to retrace my steps to avoid the crowded venue. And so, after a brief pause to get a sense of what was going on, I continued walking slowly but steadily into their midst.
Some of them recognized me of course, which probably explains why an alarm wasn’t sounded immediately. I’m a regular in the neighborhood and often stop to say hello and comment on the weather. I’ve also been known to stop traffic so that the oldest and youngest among them can cross the street safely. That said, I’ve been roundly chastised for getting too close, so was well aware of what this large gaggle of Canada Geese could do if it felt threatened.
The strange thing about this convention was that it was being held in an empty parking lot not 100 yards from a pond. And an actual lake, with wide sweeping lawns, was less than half a mile away. It seemed odd that they’d chosen to gather on asphalt, but if I’ve learned anything about Canada Geese, it’s that they are as odd as they are beautiful.
Today’s gathering was composed of thirty-five to forty geese. They were milling about the parking lot as if waiting for something to happen. I kept walking, moving slowly so as not to frighten or alarm them. But the moment I got within a few yards of the closest goose everyone raised their heads, stared at me with their shiny black eyes, and began strolling in my direction. Their rubbery webbed feet made soft slapping sounds against the pavement as they walked and a low, guttural murmuring grew louder and louder as they approached.
I stopped and waited to see what they’d do. The murmuring continued but was soon interspersed with what sounded like companionable barking and an occasional honk. As they got closer they broke into smaller groups composed of both larger adults and smaller, younger birds and formed a rough circle around me. There was no hissing, wing flapping or frightened calls, but every so often one of the birds would break from its group and waddle towards me. It would come as close as it dared, stretch out its neck, open its beak, and give a loud honk. Then it would turn and hurry away using its wings to give it a little burst of speed. “What are you guys doing,” I laughed, “playing, truth or dare?”
When the sun was about to set, and the air had become uncomfortably chilly, I resumed my slow, careful walk towards the parking lot’s exit. The geese followed me at a respectful distance all the way to the street chattering amongst themselves about the featherless, flightless creature who’d just walked amongst them. Perhaps, I fantasized, the story of this day would become part of goose mythology - passed from goose to gosling and told as way to pass the time on one of their long flights north. “Perhaps,” I thought as I stopped to get one last look at my avian entourage, “I’ll find a way to write this all down - a way to infuse each word with the wonder I’m feeling as I walk myself reluctantly back to humanity.
Copyright 2024 by Jena Ball. All Rights Reserved.
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❤️ this. You are such a talented writer with a wonderful voice...each narrative you tell revealing more.
I'm so happy you have your feathered friends. It seemed like a very satisfying social gathering.