The geese do ballet. A kind of arabesque, same-side wing and leg outstretched behind their bodies in a graceful lengthening of muscle and tendon. They are sitting ducks, someone quips, as the geese prefer to hang out in the middle of the road that loops around the clutch of tiny houses gathered here. The ducks, on the other hand, choose to sit in the grass. The geese. Feathered duck pins arranged not so much for a game of bowling, but more for a round of Russian roulette.
Someone hit a goose a few days ago. One of three siblings hatched just a small number of months ago. Mortally wounded, she wandered to a patch of grass near the tiny house of a friend of mine, and there she died-my friend then making sure that the little goose would final rest peacefully in the wilderness. Heaven, on earth.
The geese, innocently oblivious to death and danger, continue to do ballet in the road, while from the sky, yet out of nowhere, a message written in drifting soft goose down. The littlest ballerina letting us know she is in a better place.
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This piece is based on what happened here where I live just a few days ago. Sad, to be sure, but mysteriously magical too. ❤
The Word Pirate 
I feel it is important to be able to acknowledge tragic happenings but still be able to find a magical element to such a loss. I like how you did that so well with this piece of writing. 😀
Tom, first off, I’m so sorry to take so long to reply to your comment! I really value what you have to say! And I was angry over what was a senseless tragedy. There is a love hate relationship with the geese here, some folks see them as strictly a nuisance, but I feel honored to share their space. Animals have always been magical to me. I’m glad I could find the words to pay tribute to this little dancing goose. ❤
You are so creative. I loved both of these posts! ❤️
Sent from my iPhone
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Mama, thank you so much! I love you! ❤