The Geese

The geese have come.
They landed
at the far end of the field
in the near darkness before night.

They settled in quickly, strutting about,
folding and unfolding their feathers
tight against their round bellies.
They peck the ground, dinner.

But then, all at once,
from their various stations on the ground,
they lift together silently
into the air, as if pulled up
on puppet strings.

Soft finger of air moves
across my face as they pass close above me
to where?
With a twinge of grief at their departure,
the trees and I breathe
goodbye.