Wednesday, January 29, 2014

When Geese Dream

By Patrick J. Walsh

Warmth, in the sun; warm and water all-encompassing. The slightest of movements in the air, a slight stirring, and the smallest waft of scent, redolent of the most vivid moments of the past.

The day is quiet. The water spreads out, still, warm, flat from breast to shore, even and calm. She swims nearby in his dreams, and the days of the little ones remain before him as though painted on the air.

He dreams of her now, only dreams, in the long time of sunshine in the slowness of the warm afternoon.

At the rear of the line, the soft squish of the mud beneath; plodding behind the little ones, comical in their blonde tufts of cover. She at the front, always, showing the way for them. And for him.

The brightness of the afternoon, the lull of the sweet aroma in the heavenly scent; quiet, still. And no need to move. The water clear, and still.

As in the seasons the warm brings the cold and the cold the warm, the quiet of the afternoon returns him briefly to the busy time of the crèche, in that one season when she and he grouped with the others to care for all their little ones together.

It had been a time of great noise. There was frequent excitement, with the little ones sometimes quarreling over bits of things, and occasionally the others quarreling, too. But it had been a good time overall.

It had been a good time, and it was good in his dreams. The time seemed to have moved quickly past, but now, in his dreams, it seemed as though it may have passed more slowly.

In the warmth and the brightness, now, he saw his own little ones back then as distinct from the others; they moved along together, in a small bunch that only she and he could immediately see as separate from the others.

They were the third group that she and he had had together. It had been early in their time together. There were many little ones, over all the time they had been together. That time was the only time they had joined with the others.

With all the little ones they had had together, she had always been there, leading. Always leading.

Again in the soft warmth of the afternoon, with the sweet moisture in the air, she was there, as he dreamed. He dreamed in the warmth of the sunshine, with the water all-encompassing, and together they saw all the little ones, one group after another, and it was good.

She was there, and it was good.

© Patrick J. Walsh

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