By Glenys O'Connell
Ah, November. To me, this time of year is always bittersweet. Dramatic sunsets light up the skies like the last remnants of summer's fiery beauty.There is the beauty of the trees – in my area of Ontario, Canada, the forests are thick, the tree species varied. By now they've gone from forty shades of green to vivid reds, golds, russets and lime greens standing like exotic beauties against the sober deep greens of pines and cedars.Bare rocks, stripped of their summer ornaments of moss and lichens, now appear ancient and regal, denizens of a historic world that was here before mankind, and will be here after we are all long gone.
Our tiny village pond is a stopping off place where migrating ducks enjoy a few days before taking off again on their southern journey. As I drive the country roads, the skies are filled with Canada geese, huge flocks soaring and dipping through the air to land in autumn dark fields to graze, preparing for their long journey to warmer climes. The sight of the geese always leaves me melancholy.
Their excitement is palpable; they honk and preen, sometimes taking flight in synchronized dances as they ride the spirals of the air currents until, tiring of the game, they float back down to earth.
Their presence tugs at my heart strings. Do these beautiful creatures, in common with all their smaller feathered friends who flee our bitter winters, understand just how dangerous their journeys will be? In their joy of flight and movement, do they realize that the world is full of dangers? There are bitter winds, icy snowstorms, hunger, and death waiting, there are culls and hunters and accidental entanglements with the artifacts of human existence that litter their paths.
I want to stamp on my brakes, leap from the car across the frost-laced hedgerows and gather up these creatures of the air, hug them and keep them safe.
But not without self interest – for we know that when the geese leave, winter's snows will follow. If we could keep them home, could we thwart Old Man Winter's icy forward march?
Sometimes their act of leaving, their joy, seems like a betrayal to those of us left behind to deal with snow and ice and bitter winds.
Yet I know that, once the year turns, many of us will stop in our daily routines and keep silence, hoping to hear the first honking of the returning geese, and scan the skies squinting against the growing light in hopes of seeing the first v-shaped flocks coming home.
Because with their return, the old earth will halt her inexorable slide into cold and death, and warmth and light will return.
Safe journey, feathered friends!
To help keep a lucky reader warm this winter, I'm offering a free autographed print copy of my Canadian romantic suspense, Judgement By Fire! All you have to do is leave an interesting comment about how you survive winter, and I'll pick the one I like best and voila! The book will be in the mail!
Glenys O'Connell will be hunkered down in her drafty century old farmhouse this winter, writing murder mysteries and romance stories to keep herself warm. She denies the rumors that sometimes she stands outside on the lane and yells "Traitors!" at flocks of departing geese. After all, that would be a crazy thing to do, yes? You can read excerpts of her work on her webpage here
