The April morning, glorious.
Crisp, cool, but not cold.
Early sun warming hands, face.
What was that honking?
Rhythmic, loud, incessant?
Coming from nearby?
I searched in all directions.
Till I saw a goose perched on a rooftop.
As though making a pronouncement to the kingdom.
In a flash, I knew exactly what was being bellowed.
Despite my ignorance of the words.
The babies, born.
To the goose and gander by the pond.
So I dashed over to take a look.
Seeing father on duty.
His partner shielding yellow chicks under one wing.
I counted three.
Then a fourth waddled out.
Four, I whispered to a woman on a bench.
Then, a fifth.
Five, I breathed.
Taking in the miracle of the scene.
Then, to my amazement, a sixth.
Six goslings, the color of bright sunflowers.
Creeping in and out from under mother’s wing.
Beneath pink weeping cherries, sending out bouquets.
Surrounded by carpets of lavender vinca blooms.
A village of frogs and turtles.
Graduate students, neighbors.
All having waited, now rejoicing
the wonder of new birth.
In a season bursting with color
sprouting from tender earth.
Lynn Benjamin
April 26, 2024
