Waiting

This morning I woke to the very rare commotion of geese calling as they flew over the house; the sound took me back to the time we spent at a sandhill crane preserve--such wonderful singing filled the air there, even in your dreams. I looked out the upstairs window into thick fog, and the hoarse calling of the birds. Ran downstairs and out the door, wait for me, wait for me. There were five, and they circled the neighborhood a few times like a message before flying away.