Impeccable Timing

I live near a small pond and make a point of walking by it when I can. More so than the trees along my street or the plants and bushes in people's yards, the pond and its environs seem to reflect the mood of each season, of each day. In winter, the pond goes quiet, its surface a frozen white mask. In early spring, the ice begins to thaw, the mask retreating from the edges and finally disappearing, leaving the water to gently lap the shores.

Animal life returns to the pond shortly thereafter. It was a few weeks ago when I noticed what I believed to be two families of Canadian geese, four adults and eight goslings, hanging around the pond's grassy edge. Despite my proximity, less than 20 feet away, the adult geese seemed unperplexed by my presence and didn't even look in my direction, so confident were they that I posed no threat. The fluffy yellow goslings teetered on their young legs as they pecked at the grass.

On subsequent walks I hoped to be able to catch sight of these young geese and watch their progress. Perhaps a week ago I strolled by at dusk. At precisely the moment I looked at the pond I saw the goslings scrambling from the water onto a small raft where their parents already perched for the evening. I waited until the last gosling had, with great effort, hoisted itself onto this floating hotel. Had I arrive a minute later I would not have witnessed their bedtime.

This afternoon, returning from a walk to an ice cream shop, I detoured by the pond. The geese families were crossing the street, heading towards the water. The goslings were probaby twice the size they had been when I first saw them. They were still yellow, and still a bit ungainly, but their necks were longer and they were starting to resemble geese rather than generic waterfowl chicks. The relaxed parents allowed their broods to cross the street casually, stopping every so often to peck at the pavement. I slowed down and approached them carefully, seeing how close I could get before the geese reacted. It wasn't until I was but a few feet away that one of the geese hissed at me, and not very unconvincingly.

The geese had reached a stone curb that was several inches, maybe even a foot, above the pond's grassy bank. Even the adults had a difficult time navigating this gap, which was not tall enough to justify flapping the wings and flying and not short enough to allow for a graceful step. The goslings, confronted with the fact that they had to get from the curb to the grass, took a leap of faith and jumped, fruitlessly flapping their winglets. Some landed on their feet, others stumbled and one tumbled, a variety of landings that reminded me of gymnasts dismounting from their beams and bars. I waited until they all had made it in the water before continuing my walk.