Lost Geese -- Or Parents?

Birdsong wakes me, but it’s the geese that keep me from going back to bed. I pull the shades up to see the sun winking off tiny ripples in the lake across the street, irresistible to someone living in a city where ice reigns six to seven months of the year.

 The birds tell me summer is coming, but the geese make me laugh, especially when they pair off into couples and jabber at each other while propelling their impossibly heavy bodies skyward.

I imagine they are my parents, dead but reincarnated as the Canada geese so prevalent around here. They are trying desperately to find me. As a child, I was embarrassed by how often my parents got lost, even when driving to our cousins for Thanksgiving (which they did, year after year, for decades.)

I imagine my father-goose saying, with barely concealed frustration, “Faye. It’s across that way, that house with the red roof. We just took a wrong turn!”

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Photo by Sneha Cecil on Unsplash