The geese Form a procession in their northern formal dress. Single file they march down The hill Coming from deep out of the tree line and through A courtyard of grass and sedge, Their solemn walk An act of unison metered by webbed feet. And an overdone elegance.
At shore of the pond They prostrate themselves, Head bowed to the water. As if encountering an old priestess among the church pews. Solemnly they shake their Necks like human hands- A time honored ritual. Then, an unknown cue, Their heads turn up to the blue sky launching themselves Into the water splash-less, like Floating clouds blown on The breeze. Now moving independently, leaving ripple paths across the pond. The ritual has ended.
A vision of fairy life along a rural woods with a pond.