THE INVITATION

By: dc HILL (July 8, 1992)

I see them flying low,

Canada geese just above the treetops,

Banking so their glide path descent lines up

For a smooth landing on Forty Acre Swamp.

 

Why do they fly in loose array?

The center birds hesitant in V formation.

This is a literate, mischeivous flock

Skywriting a W script across the sky.

 

Why they fly South so early?

It’s August and summer’s warmth still flows.

These wanderlust Arctic sentinels

Must anticipate Equinox and crave to fly.

 

The two leaders spy this kindred soul

And tilt their wings in greeting.

An invitation resounds,

Echoing over the glen on which I stand.

 

Time for a change. Time to fly.

Release yourself. Say goodbye.

Tomorrow, join us in the sky.

 

Swamp maples soften their refrain.

The flock then turn and land on open water,

Their regal black, gray and white tones compliment

The rosy, sunset images cast upon the water.

 

Their invitation stirs me deep.

My inner being craves to fly.

To soar up there on high.

With these and other free winged spirits.

 

But I am earth-bound,

With leaden feet.

With soul rooted, anchored deep

By intertwining connection I must keep.

Tonight I’ll reflect; tomorrow, return

And watch these sentinels rise.

They’ll leap to the sun and fly

While I wait for another Equinox.