I met him about a year ago, at the icy end of Fall when the others had all migrated through and away.
I saw “one lonely goose” I told my daughter, and I wondered about that.
I saw him again a few times, in that long winter of the polar vortex, sitting fluffed and stoic on a rock in the frozen lake, taking in the weak morning sun.
I didn’t think to take a picture then. I didn’t know yet I would be telling his story.
But I did snap his inscrutably goofy web-footed footprints.
I named him Analdas, after Uncle Analdas, the worldweary and wily old rabbit widower in Rabbit Hill.