I went out to my car this morning and as I was brushing off the snow, I heard a bird call in the sky. Looking up, I saw a lone Canadian goose flying high. With each downbeat of his or her wings, the bird let out a panicked honk. Over and over again, I listened to this bird as it passed by me. An overwhelming sense of anguish stayed with me long after it was even a speck anymore. Unsettling sadness filled me. What happened to its family? Was it injured at some point and they had to go on ahead and now healed, it’s trying to catch up? What other scenario might lead to a goose frantically looking for what it had lost? Calling out in hopes of a response.
The hardest part of moments like this is accepting that I can’t do anything. That I can’t fix it. That I can’t comfort this bird who is in obvious distress. I’ll never know if it worked out. If the lost family was found. And that’s really tough on me. I know I’m not the only one out there whose eyes well up thinking about situations like this. Who cries about a lost little goose trying to find its way. Who feels helpless. I’m not alone in contemplating a story like this long after others have forgotten it. Or in being someone who even notices it in the first place. Knowing that doesn’t make it easier to let go though.
So, I’ll just sit here and try to think happy thoughts about the goose and hope for the best.
Safe travels, little buddy. I hope that you find them.