Unexplained magic

Hundreds of them! Just hundreds! OK, maybe not hundreds, mmmmm, 50? Well, probably 30. Still a heckuva lot. My spring Canadian Geese contingent had landed at Williams Pond, just down the road from me.

According to my annual “waiting for the geese“ calendar, they fly in around March. Initially, their time is spent, shall we say, making goo-goo eyes at each other behind bushes. These geese-y romances guarantee a pageant of little gosling’s hatching, roundabout May. Love me some yellow-feathered, wobbly, goslings!

Sidebar: Williams Pond is situated on farmland. So, ahem, the sheer multitude of very sizable geese droppings is probably not ticking off an aesthetically inclined property owner. More meticulous property owners seem disinclined to appreciate the spirit of Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of the Wild Things” (and, of course, all the prodigious goose poop.)

Sigh. There I go again, deviating from deep geese-y excitement when my contingent arrives. What’s the spark that leaves me totally wide eyed whenever I see the geese? I’ve been asking myself that same question for 24+ years. You’d think I’d never seen wildlife before.

Truth. I’ve lived, for many years, in a semi-rural neighborhood, populated by annual wildlife: deer, snakes, coyotes, foxes, and the very loud nightly recitations of huge bullfrogs. Wish there was a bullfrog whisperer around. I’d love to know if I’m hearing a bullfrog choral recitation of Wendell Berry’s “The Peace of the Wild Things.” Or, perhaps, a communal sharing of human being jokes, going ‘round the bullfrog cliques.

Inquiring minds, and all that….

Surrounded by annual wildlife, my reaction to the ephemeral presence of transient geese is of a different order, entirely. Best illustrated by my love of diving into a ridiculously fudgy devil’s food cake (geese) rather than a Hostess cupcake (annual critters.)

Each and every time I drive by Williams Pond, I am fizzy with geese-y excitement. I do love me some spring fawns, but fizziness does not enter that particular picture. I don’t know why the marked difference. I just don’t.

Much appreciation to you, fair readers, for allowing me to prattle on. I set out to discern the difference in the magnitude of my reactions to the transient Canadian Geese and the annual wildlife I encounter frequently. You know what? I don’t care anymore.

There’s a little girl, still living within me, who just loves the idea of magic (and ridiculously fudgy devil’s food cake.) My aliveness personified. Lacking understanding of what magic is (do any of us truly know?) doesn’t mean I can’t thoroughly enjoy the fizziness generated by that apparent magic. And I do.