Sunday morning, and rain is falling from the sky instead of snow. Today Wapsinonoc Creek is running high and free. Just a few days ago I watched the ice breaking up, fast currents swirling above, below and around the frozen surface. This morning the temperature is hovering above 32 degrees, the ground wet instead of slick, the birds singing spring songs. Yesterday, as I walked south on our gravel road, two huge flocks of geese flew north high above me, their honking deep and resonant and without stop. The sound of geese touches something in me, an instinctive wake-up call. In my imagination, even the trees respond to that compelling sound, the sap beginning to rise. I wonder: do geese call all the way to their destination?
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