Cyprus 1968 . During a football game on the village dust patch I remember looking up as a skein of storks or large geese made their way across Cyprus for Turkey. Beneath them or on (actually riding) them would have been,, according to tradition would have been hitchhiking swallows taking a breather on their larger brethren. With all that there is a song that calls the skeins of birds to bring with them the prosperity of a good summer after the winter rains. It’s a vivid memory and so so poignant as they were the most cherished of my earthly days as a child. So geese are a real ikonic bird for me accompanied by a traditional living soundtrack!

I miss talking to them.

I visited many years later and the barrels that made up the corral that my aunt had built for her herds were still there broken and twisted by 26 years of time, old black tar barrels strewn here and there like loosened teath from a jaw bone.. There were no goal posts and there were no birds. The place was utterly parched and dead.I don’t think I have ever felt so alone in my life since

Memories of Geese

Skeins of geese returning to their summer
pastures call to me. They are so high
as I gaze with the eyes of  a child once more
deep  into the summer skies of my days with you.
They are fluid and loose as a  shaken rope
wriggling home to find peace and prosperous
solitude with their kind.
Soon they will honk and call to each other, hiss
and dance their happiness and joy at the
familiar landmarks and sweetness of the new grasses.
Soon they will descend to the land and I too will
descend steeply to the mundane levels of life.
Domestic necessities and cooking, washing and sleeping
in a warm but lonely bed.
This summer will be a skein of memories of you.