A “V” of 16 geese flew over me, calling out to one another, heading south. The sight and sounds leave me bereft and teary eyed. Saying good-bye to old friends—not knowing if they’ll make it back here in the spring. Not knowing if I’ll still be here to greet them.
When they leave us, each autumn, I stop to listen to their call. If I can, I step outside to watch them approach, then fly past, calling as they fly. Today they flew above our back yard. It always hurts, their abandonment over winter. I thrill to see and hear the geese as they pass. And when they’ve gone, I almost always cry.