In morning light, I walk alone under rain washed April sky. Bissell Park is curiously silent: the honking song of the geese is gone.
Accustomed to side stepping their mess, today the path is clean. The usual litter of cigar like little green goose turds has been washed away by rain.
I stand for a moment admiring the graceful sway of the willow tree in its coat of tender new leaves. Dandelions and violets bloom in a wide field still bright with prisms of rain.
Through every season of the year, geese mysteriously appear, disappear then reappear in Bissell Park. I've never seen a nest in the park; I wonder where their nests are.
Where ever they've gone, they won’t stay long, no more than a week or two. And when they come back, they’ll probably bring a passel of goslings.
I hope so.