The sun had just dipped below the horizon line as I pulled into my driveway this evening. The day had been a hard one; not the kind of hard that a construction worker, a delivery person, or a factory-floor laborer might experience, but the kind that involves communicating new concepts to very young children, each student examining, interpreting, understanding, or rejecting them in their own ways.
I walked the 40 or so feet back to the mailbox at the roadside, and, after pausing to take hold of the garbage can standing nearby, headed back toward the house.
The growing sound in the distance stopped me short, though. I let the garbage can tilt back to stand on its own, and the hand holding today’s mail fell to my side. Silently I stood and waited, already relishing what I knew was to come.
Today it was three. Sometimes it’s two, but usually three, a number that brings just a hint of melancholy to what is a blessing in my day each time it happens. I know the third is alone, despite the pair with which it flies in formation.
Three Canada geese powered through the air on their way toward some point northwest of where I was standing. They pass my house most evenings, I imagine, and my heart settles just a bit, my shoulders relax, and I know the joy that a touch of the natural world brings every time I watch them pass. Wild geese.
For the second time in just a handful of days, my mind recalled the words of the poet Mary Oliver.
For the second time in just a handful of days, I use these words to give thanks to the Creator, and to the poet.
It just takes a bit over a minute to watch this. You’re worth it.