Here come the geese flying south. They make quite a racket, even if there are only a few of them heading for the river at the border of our property. Soon I will know again – if I’m driving north on Interstate Route 81 for some reason – the thrill and danger of seeing hundreds (yes, literally hundreds of them) and trying to count as I drive. It is a fruitless activity of course; I usually give up quickly and just let the amazement of their “V” formation take my attention and gratitude as they cross the vast expanse of sky over the cornfields. It’s one of those late August signals of seasonal change – some would all it delight – like waking up to a temperature of 48 degrees F. and waiting for the sun to take us to 75 by mid-afternoon.
I remember hearing when I was much younger about the phenomenon of swifter time passage as we age. Now I know the truth of that feeling. “How did we get to the end of August?” I ask myself as I contemplate the date and the fact of facing another Monday upon awakening. There’s no sense in lamenting the days already gone; they won’t ever be back! Accepting what is and moving on, grateful for what is still to come, is the only way to travel this highway. There may be miracles hidden in the morning mist. We have only to trust until the sun breaks through and sets a clear course of opportunity for the gifts that this Monday holds.