Thursday, October 7, 2010
As I typed the last sentence I heard geese calling in the night sky. I went out and stood on the terrace looking up at the dark and the stars but could not see them. They were headed dead south. I have always hoped that they might be snow geese when I hear them every year. It is a high, heartsore sound. The sound of seasons turning, countries calling, homes remembered, life passing.
Or perhaps it's just the sound of being left behind, and the desire to follow.