I live in an area where the glaciers left their mark in obvious ways those thousands of years ago. Behind our house, we have a hill that runs north and south, the direction that the glaciers moved on their slow, determined journey all those millennia ago. These hills are called drumlins, and they give our neighborhood tat character of rolling farmland, woods, meadows and marshlands that make it so attractive.
Early this morning I took our new lab puppy, Trip, for our morning walk out back. It was one of those pristine early spring mornings that begin to wake up the feelings that shirtsleeve weather is right around the corner. Problem is, it’s only early February.
I am blessed to live on the edge of the Montezuma flyway, and that gifts me with many sightings of migrating birds of all sort, especially Canada geese. Now, I have always lived in an area where geese were fairly common, but until I moved here to this land, I never knew the sheer numbers that they can amass.
The sunrise was beautiful, the wind calm. Robins called in the early morning, perhaps being lulled this far north a bit early because of our mild winter.
I heard them before I could see them, but I looked to the south to try and locate the flock. The first thing I saw was the bison standing on top of the drumlin, just off the edge of the beaming sun. Another of my blessings is that I have these American buffalo as neighbors, and depending on their mood, sometimes they are in sight, at others they prefer to go into the woods portion of their fenced in pasture.
In a moment, the scene of the sun, hill and buffalo became a moving display as a flock of a hundred or so geese flew across the view. Trip briefly stopped his puppy ramblings and sat down beside where I stood looking, he too marveling at the sight. This is only his tenth day of being out in “the real world”. It’s the beginning of my seventh decade. No doubt, both of us felt the blessings of this moment deep in our center.