twenty seven or twenty eight geese

we were crawling along on the freeway and as i usually do on longer car trips or bus trips or bike trips or anything i listen to npr. the days are getting a little bit longer now and i can make the drive to see dan in full daylight and very little traffic. today felt strange to me though. you know how sometimes when a storm is about to happen, especially a portland metro oregon storm, you can kind of feel it on your forearms and smell it when its windy out? that's what it felt like earlier. the air was cool and moist and the fresh drops of rain were tepid and fat. when the sun disappeared over the hill i could see the storm moving toward me, or rather, i to it. 

at that moment, that one single moment when the darkest cloud appeared over the horizon line, i looked up and to the right and watched as all the summer geese gone south for winter were flying up high in a crooked capital a shape pointed north. i was so happy to see them. elated even. finally. 

just a few weeks ago i was on the bus, as i usually am on most mornings with all the other mid-morning commuters into downtown, and i noticed something that made me feel happier than i had been in weeks. every morning that i ride the bus i like to scope out the seats before i actually sit down. i'm pretty sure everyone else does the same thing because most mornings i get on the bus and notice that there are lots of empty seats but they are all aisle seats or in the handicapped area which makes me uncomfortable to sit in. 

the morning i got so sit by the window all the way from point a to point b i noticed the trees. i had been waiting and hoping that soon they would be breathing again and that soon they would be bright and alive again but every day left me hoping. this day was different. i looked at the trees and followed their hips to their shoulders out to their arms and through to their fingertips that had started glowing a quiet pink. 

finally it is here.