Mississippi River above Aitkin, MN – September 14, 2012
Every night geese form V’s and fill the skies, soaring overhead with a chorus of calls that echo and disappear into the southern horizon.
I watch them pass, envious of their speed, their direct line laid across the muddy curves of my river. There is no doubt anymore, Winter is coming. It’s in the extra minute of darkness each morning, in the air’s bite, in the red leaves floating on the water.
“South, south,” the world screams. “South before the door slams shut.”
“How long,” I ask.
But no one answers, so I stare at those geese slipping away each night and hope they are not the last, hope that tomorrow I am not staring up at winter’s empty sky.