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Friday

Reflections on the Flight of Wild Geese

THE SOUND, IT WAS THE SOUND THAT CAUSED THE YOUNG BOY TO LOOK SKYWARD ON THAT COLD RAINY NOVEMBER DAY AS HE CROSSED THAT NOW BARREN COTTON FIELD ON HIS WAY BACK TO THE BIG HOUSE AND THE WARMTH OF FIRE PLACE HE KNEW WAS WAITING.  THE SOUND THAT ALERTED HIM TO A FLIGHT OF   ONRUSHING WILD GEESE.  THE BOY HAD SEEN THEM MANY TIMES BEFORE, BUT ALWAYS, ALMOST ABOVE THE CLOUDS, BUT THIS TIME THEY WERE FLYING LOW, VERY LOW JUST ABOVE THE TREE TOPS.  HE QUICKLY COCKED HIS GUN, A GUN HE GOT JUST A FEW YEARS BEFORE WITH MONEY HE MADE FROM PICKING COTTON IN THAT SAME NOW BARREN FIELD.  THE MEMORY OF THE SCHOOL LIBRARY FLASHED THROUGH HIS MIND, WHERE JUST A FEW DAYS EARLIER HE HAD READ AN ARTICLE ON HUNTING WILD GEESE AND THE NEED OF THE HUNTER TO LEAD THE HEAD OF THE FLOCK BEFORE SHOOTING.  THE AIR WAS PIERCED BY THE BLAST.  THE BOY WAS SICK AS NOT EVEN A TINY FEATHER FLOATED TO EARTH.  UNSCAVED THE GEESE CONTINUED SOUTH TO THAT DISTANT FEEDING GROUND.  THE BOY WAS DESPONDENT, KNOWING HIS GRANDFATHER HAD HEARD THE GEESE AND THE SHOT AND SURELY BELIEVED THE YOUNG HUNTER WOULD SOON APPEAR AT THE DOOR GOOSE IN HAND.  

YEARS HAVE PASSED AND THE BOY IS AN OLD MAN, A VERY OLD MAN.  THE BOY WHO WAS SAD ON THAT FALL DAY.  A DAY THAT IS NOW ONLY A MEMORY FROM WHAT SEEMS TO BE ANTIQUITY.  BUT THE OLD MAN IS GLAD, GLAD HE MISSED THAT GOOSE SO MANY YEARS AGO.  By Ron Russell     



IT IS ONLY NOW THAT I REALIZE THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD GOOSE WAS A FLIGHT TO MY HEART.

THEY OFTEN SAY,  THAT TIME MARCHES ON, BUT TIME IS EMBEDDED  IN THE PAST  AND NOTHING ABSOLUTELY NOTING WILL CHANGE WHAT HAS BEEN.

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