Goose Stories: One

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.

 

Goose Stories – All on One Page

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