I go for a walk or a run, and I think, “This is great, recharges me, gets me into nature; I must do this every day.” After about a week and a half I go again and think the same thing. Will I never learn?

Today I saw a flock of geese land on Greenbelt Lake. I don’t know if they were coming in from Canada for the season or if they were just back from their morning consititutional, but I’m inclined to think it was a more momentous landing. First just a few, five or seven maybe, came in without too much ado, splashing down nicely and then just sitting still and looking calmly around as if they’d been there for hours. No panting or drama or exploring the new surroundings. Very un-human.

They were the front-runners. Then more small groups, one after another, swooping more dramatically low over the water as if they might change their minds up to the last second, when it was do-or-die moment and they had to either commit to the water or swoop up high over the trees for another loop.

Finally a big group, fifteen or twenty or maybe thirty at once all came down together, and the honking afterwards was much more pronounced. These were the also-rans, the hangers-on, the rabble. I imagined their arguments and complaints went something like this:

“Mom, mom, are we there yet? Is this where we’re going to stop for winter? I’m tiiiiired.”
“Do we have to stop here? There’s a really nice lake further on. Can’t we go all the way to the harbour? I want to keep going.”
“No, this is where we’re staying. Your aunties are all here already.”
“He bumped me. You bumped me. I was coming in for a perfect landing and you messed it up.”
“I did not.”
“I was here first. Nyah nyah.”
“Where are the snacks? Has anyone got the snacks? I want a worm.”

And so on. It was worth going out for.

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