I let my dog, Chickadee, out into a quiet, chilly October morning. The sun was about to rise over the distant wooded horizon, and a thin waning moon hung high in the pale blue sky.
While I gazed at the moon, the very tip of the sun showed itself and grabbed my attention. At the same moment, I heard migrating geese honking in the distance. They soon appeared as small silhouettes, and it looked as if they had come directly out of the sun.
It was a big group of about thirty. The point bird kept changing, leadership shared then passed without ceremony. As they approached, they grew and morphed from shadows to light, and with each flap, their wingtips threw bright little flashes of sun down to us. Chickadee and I smiled as we looked straight up at them, craning our necks. A Chickadee on the ground beneath a chorus of geese overhead. We turned and watched them disappear beyond the trees and listened to the fading honks.
I couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to start a day on Earth. I tucked it away into my memory bank to revisit in times of boredom. It’s experiences like this that I know I’ll remember on my deathbed.
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