Each morning, we take Sylvie for a walk down Sparrow Bush Road. It’s our new routine. And every morning of this first week, we’ve seen Canada geese on the wing in the brightening light.
When I was growing up, I loved the sight and sound of geese in the late summer sky above the valley. Their mournful honking always filled me with a thrum of longing I never quite understood. It was something about their moving on, homeward bound, when we were already home, and the way their passage marked the end of something beautiful.