Snow on the Wing

It was as though I had driven into a freshly shaken snow globe. The air was filled with swirling white. Not snow, but snow geese.

They descended by the hundreds, wings flapping and fanning as the geese came in for a landing. It seemed impossible their wings were not becoming entangled.

And then it was over. The sky was clear. But the fallow field was hidden beneath a fluttering blanket of white that stretched from one tree line to another.

I cracked the window of the car. The squawking... or whatever geese do... was deafening, shattering the impression of white peacefulness.

And then they were on the move, on the ground this time, forming up into individual colonies of white bordered by the brown of the sleeping land.