Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Is it Geese or Goose?

In Northeast Ohio there are tons of Canadian Goose. We have two families sharing our pond this year with us. I love watching them. I was going to photograph them but decided there are so many, and everyone sees them all the time so who wants to see another photo of a Canadian Geese?
I remember when they were a rare sight. All the artists were painting them. Now? Everybody just complains about their mess.
Okay, for sure they do poop a lot. What doesn't? For all we know, goose pooh could be a cure for a dreadful disease, or something to rid ourselves of wrinkles. It just made me think how we find something that is rare more beautiful than something that is plentiful, besides money. I was thrilled to find a goose feather earlier this spring, now there are scads. I stopped saving them. But they still make me smile when I see them along the banks of the pond signalling that nature is alive and well, busy as a bee.
Therefore, along with some pics of my garden and the new spot for my beloved Blessed Mother statue, here is a poem entitled "Wild Geese", by Mary Oliver:
You do not have to be good
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

1 comment:

Rosie's Whimsy said...

I could just swing on that beautiful red swing with you and chat about geese. I think they're wonderful. We are always on the lookout for the goslings every spring. Another sign of the cycle of life.

((hugs)) Rosie