March 10

Second day of sun and warmth, and the geese are surging northward. I counted 45 Vs during my little dog walk in the orchard, then I lost track. Some strings are so far to the east I can’t hear them, only see their tiny bodies pass before the clouds. Some are right above me, but so high up I can hardly make them out. They are covering the miles today. Closer to earth, the newly arrived blackbirds are buzzing and popping as they swish down the hill.

A salt and pepper flock of Canadas and snows passes over. “Good luck!” I call. “Bon chance!” I cry. 

Before I lived here, I wept when the geese went in the fall, leaving me behind. Now I say, “Good luck! See you on the other side!” And I always do.

Shining contrail’s bright

arc east to west. Migration:

yur doin it rong.