A flock of geese honked their way over my apartment after
the...
A flock of geese honked their way over my apartment after
the sun had gone down this evening. I did not see them. I only heard their
brass-throat voices as they moved southeast towards the river, but I imagined
their grey forms, winged and stretching, in silhouette against the almost dark.
What fell from the sky alternated between drops and flakes. It changed under
the streetlamp. Each month has its own topography. This is November’s now and there
is no return. The days are quiet, dim. It is a moment of pause. I wait for
everything to change. As the veer of fowl flew overhead, I wondered who heard
them with me. In the houses on the streets nearby my street, who’s home? did
you hear, too? From the sidewalk at four-thirty in these November-end days, the
glowy lamplight oranging the windows is the most inviting light I know. We are
past the mid-day of the month; the only direction is darker; so, come in, come
in, I’ll show you all of it.
