Heart pounding, blood rushing, I hunt through my heart, searching for the peace I felt this morning, the wonder I felt, when I heard overhead the trumpeting of the wild geese. In this city, where the street lights veil the stars and turn the night sky creamsicle-colored, and on this road, where the acrid air burns in my nostrils, here in this place, the wild geese are still flying. They are still singing. I turned my face upward and thanked God.
Now my body is in the same place but my heart has gone elsewhere. It is not with the geese anymore. Where is it? Lost among the streetlights. Yet the geese are still nearby, floating perhaps on the water in the abandoned reservoir. It is quiet, where the geese are. I will quiet my heart and listen: for the song of the beautiful wild geese, for a word from my Lord.
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