At once a voice arose among
The bleak twigs overhead
In a full-hearted evensong
Of joy illimited…
The Darkling Thrush, Thomas Hardy
I was standing at our front gate at twilight
with the people I love the most – wife,
daughter, granddaughter, each of them by turns
gossiping and bantering the way
some families do – beneath low, stormy clouds
still blush tinged from the westering sun
when we heard goose cries as if from all
compass points, and suddenly the first skein
appeared over the roof, and another,
and another, their cries echoing
throughout the skyey amphitheatre:
pink-footed geese from the Arctic Ocean’s margins
wintering among us.
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By David Selzer