Serendipity, synchronicity strikes again. As I was posting this, I read Speccy’s post today and it seems to me to be on this wavelength I am trying to get at. In all the immensity of bits, togethers, etc. sometimes we organise and weave some sense. Sometimes, Sometimes not.
Grounded in glory
Geese Over Odiham (Photo credit: Vampire Bear)
The geese fly
Arrowed to some far corner of the sky
Cornered I follow
Eyes stretching past that line of sight
Blinking as the light brings tears
Stung, strung together my eyelashes
are silk threads, binding strands,
shimmering embroidering possibility.
I too would fly
chased like the phoenix
to rise again, again.
Then stop.Fall
Softly stroke shimmering silk, cotton, hemp
Not a goose with foolish dreams
I will not break the threads
Stretch and stitch, knot and tie
unfinished tapestry.
This weave is my life.
Sublime, foolish, unutterable, all,
Grounded in glory.
written March 2013.
from google books
Memories (here) of watching geese in New Zealand, as well as other places, remembering Mary Oliver’s wonderful Wild Geese
and just now reading Kim Stanley Robinson’s “The Years of Rice and Salt” see page 429.
Poetry of Moods and Moments 
I love wild geese Elspeth. I wait for the rallying cry as geese rise up to go north (in UK)
knowing that spring is here. And I love to watch the head birds flying to the tail, one after another.
John
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Thank you John – me too, watching them I forget the various worries and preoccupations around. Other lives, no need to understand.
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