August 10, 2013

Feeling Lifted

Besides the Canadian Snow geese we see quite often in colonies clustered on park lawns and lake shores here in the Northwest, and Mary Oliver's poem Wild Geese, I try to avoid geese. I have a vivid and terrifying memory of feeding popcorn to a group of geese in a park as a child. It was going well until one huge white goose spread it's wings, hissed and charged me. It might as well have been a prehistoric teradon because, I swear, its wingspan must have been 40 or 50 feet.

In the spirit of life however, which has a way of circling around and suggesting I look at such experiences, here I am starting a flying geese quilt. My hope is that, instead of focusing on the hissing, the huge flapping wings, the enormous turkey-on-feet in full-charge mode, I will replace said images with feelings of soaring, gliding, blue skies, soft feathers, and air currents. I have always wished I could fly, after all.

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