bon voyage #WritePhoto

Photo courtesy of Sue Vincent

She looked up in November and saw they were leaving. The geese flew, silent against the grey sky, headed for their winter home. She lifted her mittened hand and waved.

“Au revoir!” she called out to them. “A bientot!” she never failed to add, counting on seeing their return in the spring. 

She always said something in French to them. After all, she thought whimsically, they were Canadian geese — some of them might speak French. And, indeed, she was rewarded with a couple of fleeting honks.

She continued on her solitary walk, happy to have seen them, but sorry to see them go. She felt a fresh pang of loneliness.

Months later, against the blue skies of a spring day, she spotted the beginning of their return. She loved the way they traveled together, looking out for each other, sharing the journey. She listened to their honking chatter as if they might be calling out her name. 

One hand to her brimming heart, and the other waving broadly, she cried, “Mes amis! Bienvenue!” Her whisper followed, “I missed you.”

In autumn, a day came she never thought she would see.

This time, when the geese called, two smiling faces turned upward together.

She felt her heart fill and overflow, grateful, amazed for this perfect moment. She felt herself soaring in the sky with all the beauty that now filled her world.

She waved to the geese. “Merci! Merci beaucoup!” she called to them. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart!” 

Her companion gently laughed in amusement, pulling her close, waving joyfully.

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Many thanks to Sue Vincent for this week’s #WritePhoto prompt, “Soar.”

friend always

I miss you, my friend.
You, so close,
          and
you, the one I will never know.
I don’t know where you are.
This was always the design.
You are going somewhere new
          without me, again.
What can I do but make wishes for you,
          like always,
and simply remain.
I miss you, my friend.

 

train

a journey within a journey
snakes a path
bearing hopefuls
each with their own story
making new stories

the slow arduous ascent
through the hills
the frenzied rocking passage of night
some sleep through the dream
the rhythmic loping along the plains
paced by antelope
and small towns
    with mysteries of their own
meals come and go
the clock moves from hands to neonesque dots

while these two fall in love
that one fights their tears
this one silently observes everyone around them,
    living.

a wheeled assembly of windowed boxes
faces peering out
watching the moon and the stars
or bent asleep over a book
while the brute engine yanks them along through their lives
they live it out
moving always moving
sometimes noticing the heaving lurches of power
but mostly just quietly jostled, unaware,
acquiescent of the ticket they hold
it’s just a ticket, after all

change must be

I remember it with both joy and melancholy.

I was finally preparing to leave. Everything was just about packed up. The house was already taking on that empty feeling. It was getting down to the wire, just days before saying goodbye to this place that I dearly loved but felt I had to leave.

I don’t know what made me look out just then.

I went deliberately to the window, and gazed out, the field stretching away to the west. And there she was, so close I could almost have touched her.

The fox stood still outside my window. There was a profound aura of peace and magic about this elusive, beautiful animal. I knew she was there on purpose. I knew we were connected somehow. Then, as if satisfied that her work was done, she disappeared.

I lived there for fifteen years, and never saw a fox before that day.

I was simultaneously calmed and distressed by the fox’s visit. I couldn’t help but wonder why the fox came to me. Was this reassurance about the path upon which I was about to embark? Or was this a warning?

It hurts to recall this moment. Stepping back into this particular past always does. Much pain and sadness surrounds the memory.

And yet, there is such beauty and peace and sense of connection in the memory, too. Even joy.

Like so much, I carry the fox in my heart.

Change must be. The fox knows, and she goes with me.

journeys

geese
I hear them
coming over the tops of trees
I begin to see them
the long, trailing vee
so high
wings waving
over the silent snow
I lift my hand toward them
I wish you well, wise ones

more come, another vee follows
and then another
wave after wave
my breath is in the air
the sky fills with hundreds of geese
my heart breaks to watch them leaving
I yet standing
now with my hand on my heart
awed and bereft
all the while knowing

I fly with you
I watch for you
I will lift my hand and
welcome you back home