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The sound of geese on the water is deafening.

A cacophony of noise that blots all else out.

The wind in the cotton woods, the chattering of squirrels, the rustle of deer coming to drink, the call of a falcon as it dives, are all lessened by the din.

A motor boat glides by on the water and scatters the flock, bringing in its wake a silence that staggers. 

The world pauses.

All creatures seem to tilt a head and raise a nose, questing in the void that follows for what comes next.

The geese resettle. 

The whippoorwill calls.

A bobwhite sounds at dusk, repeating, repeating, repeating.

And on my porch a small voice asks, “What are they saying, Mama?” 

“A goodnight call, a hush-hush to small voices, and wake-up! Wake-up! To the owl living in the hollow tree by our woods.”

Wake-up, wake-up.  To sleep, to sleep, and the motor boat hums away in the distance, not out of place at all.