Wild Geese, The Moon On Their Wings

Favorite Things

Drag me to the moon, to catch a star and seize its brilliance as I'm swept up in amorphous dust. - Bradley Chicho

When the nights get chilly with a steady breeze blowing out of the west, I like to think of those warm afternoons on the farm when we waited for geese that had been pecking at fallen rice grains in the neighboring paddy fields.

Gansa, we called them.

My cousins and I would venture past the bamboo grove toward the rivulet. Near the river was a small marshland covering some three hectares. There the geese, their clamor almost deafening, would gather. 

Then at dusk, two or three birds would take flight, squawking as they flew overhead. Another one would lift noisily into the sky, its flapping wings sending vibrations through the still air. 

I liked watching a whole squadron of them rise from the cattails patterning in a tight formation against the sky. 

It was so beautiful that I oftentimes yearned to sprout wings and join them in their flight.

I loved listening to their wild, throaty honk when the crickets got silent.

I liked how seen in silhouette, the birds appeared to skim the tips of the trees.

And my favorite thing of all, I liked how they soared overhead, oblivious to the scene below, chasing moonbeams on their wings.

Wanderers all.

Drowsy with dreams.

(To be continued)