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Autumn
The geese are on the move. On Sunday, a great skein of them - over fifty, but I was looking at the shape rather than counting - swept over the National Trust gardens at twice tree height and disappeared South in the golden afternoon sun. I could see everyone looking up at them and looking at the leaves just turning, and thinking how impossibly obvious a transition it was, like a fingerpost marking the seasons. Winter This Way.
Yesterday, a perfect V of about fifteen Canada geese zoomed, honking wildly, from the direction of the station to the river. They skimmed over the water, raised themselves up just enough to get over the railway bridge and carried on upstream, heading North. I expect they were just looking for an unoccupied stretch for a rest and a bit of a paddle, but for a moment I thought I heard, carried on the noise of vintage car horns: "Are you sure it's this way?"
Yesterday, a perfect V of about fifteen Canada geese zoomed, honking wildly, from the direction of the station to the river. They skimmed over the water, raised themselves up just enough to get over the railway bridge and carried on upstream, heading North. I expect they were just looking for an unoccupied stretch for a rest and a bit of a paddle, but for a moment I thought I heard, carried on the noise of vintage car horns: "Are you sure it's this way?"
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