Words for Wednesday

We are having a beautiful fall but the days and nights are turning colder; soon all the colorful leaves will be on the ground and the geese will start flying southward.

The Geese

by Jane Mead

slicing this frozen sky know

where they are going—

and want to get there.

Their call, both strange

and familiar, calls

to the strange and familiar

heart, and the landscape

becomes the landscape

of being, which becomes

the bright silos and snowy

fields over which the nuanced

and muscular geese

are calling—while time

and the heart take measure.