All fall you watched the geese fly south,

a soundless movie through the bedroom glass,

their long plain marvelous wings beating,

warm-blooded, creaturely, willing themselves

into their own futures. Days after you stopped

speaking, your eyes stayed on that gray sky.

When there was nothing left to hope for,

still the last light in you lifted as they passed.

And now, of course, the geese

are coming back, flying in slow twos

and threes, in sure, unbroken lines across

the spring-bleached sky as if they know

for certain something that we don't.

I wonder if, wherever you are, you know it too.

WONDER 
The sight of geese migrating south for the winter can elicit conflicting emotions. While we admire the beauty of these birds in flight, and stand in awe of the powerful instinct guiding them, we also are stung by sadness. We are likely stay where we are, and endure whatever the winter brings. And what if, when the geese return, one we love will have gone? This poem reminds us that wonder is our only possible response, the only one that engenders hope.

Kathleen Norris