Went for a walk with Hillary tonight.
Spring, that mild temptress, is beginning to tease us again; to employ her charms in a subtle assault on all our senses.
There are the olfactory delights of thawing earth and soggy vegetation, the visual appeal of sunshine on melting snow, causing auditory symphonies of dripping icicles and splashing puddles. Who can resist the allure of thin layers of crack-able ice in the morning or bracingly cold, ankle deep pools in the afternoon?
This evening we felt the season shifting. Grass is beginning to show in patches through the snow. Tree branches are just beginning to get knobby where buds will break out. The geese are flying north.
The surest sign of impending winter, for me, is the night that the geese fly south in their thousands. There is always one night in the autumn when they seem to fly non-stop, taking the last of the Indian Summer with them.
Geese were flying tonight. North and north-east. They were flying in pairs and threes. In tens and in hundreds. In "V" formation and in lines.
They fly south in the winter, and as sure as God is in His heaven, they fly north in the summer.
Our Canada Geese are on the move.