In seventh grade, our teacher read aloud to us Paul Gallico’s classic, The Snow Goose. I’d never seen a snow goose and I couldn’t imagine I ever would, but I loved every word of the story. I still have the much-read copy of the book I bought for myself as a teacher.
As for that belief that I’d probably never see a Snow goose? For the past ten years, give or take, Snow geese have included the Finger Lakes of Upstate New York on their migration route, and I thrill to their cry and the sight of the giant birds with their floppy white black-tipped wings flying in formation.
Sometimes at dawn or dusk a small group skims the evergreens behind my home, their white feathers tinged with pink from the rising or setting sun. At other times, high in the sky, multiple groups fly together, their V-formations crossing over and interweaving with their fellow flocks. If you’ve never seen it, it’s a dazzling sight against a cloudless blue sky.
No blue sky today, but it’s early days. The Snow geese have just returned to the skies above Canandaigua Lake and my home. An hour ago I heard the distinctive combination of honk and bark and looked out to see a small V of Snow geese flying side by side with a larger V of Canada geese.
So what if there’s a fresh foot of snow on the ground blanketing the shoots of spring bulbs and brave snowdrops we saw so clearly last week? The Snow goose migration is underway, and I intend to love every day of it!
Cherish the moment.