March is leaving with one last bluster. During a sun break a few minutes ago, we looked out to see a cloud of snow geese blow in from the bay and settle to feed on a greening field below. Whitecaps on the blue water, white flecks of snow geese circling against the green...everything this almost-spring morning speaks motion and life. I am reminded of this poem I wrote last spring:
Snow Geese in February
by Joan Husby
In October they come, bombing out of Siberia,
broods in tow to feast on greening fields.
Farmers do not love them, but oh!
such a song of praise this morning.
Sun breaks between gray clouds,
sweeping riverside barns and fields.
Into the sunbright, weaving, sparkling,
float skeins of snow geese without number.
Notes of the master composer dance across a heavenly staff.
In symphony of flight and plaintive calling,
they circle to land like falling lace.
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