Flights

From a mile off, I hear flights of geese approaching.  Over the years, my house has become a guiding landmark for the geese.  Raucous, barely clearing the treetops, shape-shifting in configuration, they aim for my house. 

I wave at the geese as they fly over me.  Directly above me, they sound like British soccer hooligans rioting after a bitter loss in Manchester.  But this is just another day here on the prairie above the lake at the edge of the Big Belt Mountains.   

—Mitchell Hegman