Wild Geese at Sunset

October and November are fly-in months for the migrating wild geese. Every lake and pond has its avian contingent, with more arriving daily to swell the ranks. Mr. M tells me that the marshy lake-around-the-corner is simply covered with them, so on an icily windy Sunday afternoon I take my camera and head out, hoping for some good photos.

As I turn the corner, I hear the scolding of disturbed geese, and am just in time to catch the tail end of a large flock that is flying off in high dudgeon. A man with a small yappy dog has just walked past, and these geese will have none of it.

There are, however, a few who remain calmly on the water. You can see them in the photo below if you look closely:

Oops - they've seen me. Another batch takes off in panic and flies northwards:

The clocks were turned back this morning; darkness is gathering earlier than expected. It's just a bit depressing to have the sun sinking so low at only 4 in the afternoon. However, the setting sun makes a lovely backdrop for dried goldenrod...

...and the strange alien shapes of milkweed pods:

Especially stunning against the sky is an old oak tree next to the trail. In leafy summer it looks merely massive, but come autumn, when the leaves drop, it reveals a stately beauty of bare branch and queenly form:

All the time I've been taking these photos, geese have been flying to and from the small lake. Another flock passes overhead, honking wildly:

(What do they honk about? I imagine their conversation: "Look, there's a pond!" "Where?" "Over there, you doofus!" "Who are you calling a doofus?" "I don't like the looks of this place. Can't we find anything better?" "It can't be that bad - I see other geese on the water." "Let's try it. If we don't like it we can always go somewhere else." "Mom, I'm hungry. When are we gonna stop flying?")

Meanwhile, the sunset is growing in beauty.

The old water tower is tinted peach in the evening light:

Next to the trail is a marvellous tangle of tiny grasses...

...and overhead are branches beaded with the promise of spring to come.

In the east, all is cool and serene...

...while the western flames burn their brightest before dying down to ash.

By the time I reach home, it's nearly dark, and barely 5 o'clock. (Sigh.) I remind myself that less daylight = more crochet time. I must comfort myself with yarn.

But first to the kitchen, where dough is rising. Homemade pizza for supper.

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I would do away with Daylight Savings Time if I could. I'd much rather keep the clocks at the same time year-round. How do you feel about it?

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