The Flock

Sometime after the summer's last breath is long past drawn and exhaled but before the temperatures drop to freezing, the living, breathing ecosystem most call the lake becomes something more then just a part of the scenery;

A dent in the Earth- God's thumbprint in the soft, green valley -filled with droplets of soft dew from his warm, life-giving breath, creating a deep shade of watery blue, the lake itself has many seasons of it's own; A pastel tundra in the bleakness of a dark, seemingly endless winter, a cool, otherworldly whisper of a song in spring, a lively hum in summer, and, in fall...


an airport.


...Yes. You read me right.


A crisp, whistling airport; exploding with colors and sounds and happy voices carried in on the southerly wind, sweeping the crackled, auburn oak leaves off their feet and dancing them across the cold asphalt.


This is when the wind tickles the water's skin and creates the small, lapping waves.


This is when the summer folks close up there little cottages and camps, leaving their porches and front yards lonely and deserted to sleep beneath the blanket of fading colors.


This is when the troposphere goes quiet, and winter waits impatiently for center stage.


...This is when the flock arrives.


Beautifully energized, and donned in the camouflage of autumn; the soft, burnt almond hues splashing across their wings. Their cream-colored, downy chest feathers puffed out against the raw atmosphere and their long, shiny black necks stretched out in flight and toying with the rays of yellow sunlight.


Though many well-intentioned scientists would beg profusely to differ, to be truly, deep-downly, honest, I would have to say we know not from whence they took off or to where they aim to land;


But somewhere between where they came from and where they're headed is a small, glistening body of water, softly hued and laced at the edges in a light silver frost, stretching out in a long, sparkling runway of pure, living H2O, inviting them to land with the sweetest of welcoming smiles.


How could they resist?


..It is during these brief times that I really get to quietly experience their subtle beauty, and their joyful, perhaps even silly antics and behavior.


From wherever you stand on shore, at the water's lulling edge, you cannot help but take in their wild, yet so elegant landing, as their big webbed feet skid across the water's surface and their bright wings brace against the impact; acting much like a skydiver's parachute as they buoyantly grace the lake's sensitive skin.


The roar of the flock's delicate landing echoes across the water, and ricochets off the protective cliffs.(Where the Dragons live).


Over the course of a day or two, this living airport welcomes and bids farewell to well over hundreds of flocks of migrating Canadian Geese.


For me, their brief stays on the lake had become almost desensitizing; they became almost as normal to me as the notions of sleeping, eating and laughing at a jolly good joke as dependable as the rising and setting of our Sun.


But still, their presence every autumn never ceases to fill my heart with awe of our Creator's brilliance and unutterable beauty.


And without further ado, I humbly present to you, through my own eyes, The Flock:

























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