Something told the wild geese...

Something told the wild geese

It was time to go,

Though the fields lay golden

Something whispered, "snow."

Leaves were green and stirring,

Berries, luster-glossed,

But beneath warm feathers

Something cautioned, "frost."

All the sagging orchards

Steamed with amber spice,

But each wild breast stiffened

At remembered ice.

Something told the wild geese

It was time to fly,

Summer sun was on their wings,

Winter in their cry

Fall is officially here. There are signs of it everywhere. My favorite one is the wild geese that gather above our field and call out to eachother and make their formations as they move southward. Marielle and I heard them calling so we ran down to watch in amazement as wave after wave of them appeared above the trees. It seemed after a while that the sky was full of them. I looked over at Marielle, all golden in the setting sun looking up in delight, pointing out their patterns and knew I could never capture the moment. This is a poor attempt.