It Must be Fall

There is something about geese. There is a kind of ordered disorder about them. I remember as a small boy growing up in Quebec, hearing the noise they make, disturbing the stillness of a crisp fall morning. That perfect V of Canada Geese across a deep blue sky.
I heard them again the other afternoon while I was working in my back yard, snow geese. Except in Saskatchewan it seems that there are seldom orderly flocks of 30 or 40 but huge formations of them. No formal pattern for these guys. Still flying in a rough V form but more spread out, more free form, kind of like anarchist geese. Raising a ruckus as they flew over my house.
Out on the prairie this time of year, in fields and sloughs, huge masses of snow geese pause to gorge themselves before starting on that long journey south. Thousands upon thousands of them gather, sometimes turning the whole field white in the sun.
There is something about geese.

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