They have stayed until the warmth slipped out of its robe

And into the comfort of an autumnal chill.

I hear that near the equator,

It’s too sunny to be sad.

I hear the geese honking in the sky,

A perfect “V” formation.

Is it art

Or just instinct?

If we spoke the same language,

Would they bring me with them?...

When autumn arrives and the air becomes brisk,

A flock of geese take no risk.

They spread their wings wide, they soar and glide,

Guided by instinct, they leave with pride.

They journey south where warm winds blow.

They chase the sun as the world turns cold.

Their flight, soaring of purpose and fate,

Reminds us all to find our place.

For like the geese, we too must roam,

Seeking the warmth...

one at the head

two in the next row

and two in the next

spreading out into a V shape

they’re leaving

we won’t see them until spring

it’s gotten to cold

and harsh

the winds bluster

they scream at the geese

“get out before its too late”

the geese heed the warning of the wind

and leave

flying away into warmer weather...

something stirs doesn’t it,

familiar and magnetic

felt between heaving breasts

that rides every breath-

from the depths of your bones

you think of little else

save for that call back home

to journey past the unknown...

The geese fly south for the winter

And I fly with them

To a place where I can feel safe

Where no one can harm me

Just me and the geese

Flying south towards a more warm place

Where we are going

Is abandoned

And I am now safe....

The same old routine:

It’s time to fly south.

Time to leave here and migrate to comfortable warmth

until conditions resume favorable and it’s deemed acceptable by the flock to return from temporary displacement.

It used to never bother me.

In fact, I used to look forward to it.

But just as the seasons change with time, so too has my mind.

With each passing year, the routine is getting old.

It’...

Migration high

Flying in the sky

Im a triangle pattern

You hear there chatter

South the go

In a place they know

Where there is no snow

Where there is warmth

Where they form

Again to come back

From the lack of trees

They just want to be free

When migration high

Flying in the sky...

Oh mama, where could you be?

The group of geese honk and plea

The life they owned was getting cold and bear

Now alone, they travel to who knows where

Oh mama, where is home?

The home you grew and raised us

It seemed to be flooding with cold by the day

And now we stray, clueless when you’re away

Oh mama, where are we going?

Why did we leave you at home?

The air is getting warmer, warm by the seco...

Monarch butterflies cascade in droves over California to stay warm,

Geese travel in flocks South to chase forever blue skies,

And little girls migrate down the stairs to pet their little cats...

geese fly south for the winter,

moths move toward the light,

bees drink from every bloom,

and coyotes hunt at night

elephants will mourn

orcas will attack

crows will steal your trinkets

and ducks will certainly quack

so, don’t be surprised by

what these animals may do

science has written this as fact

much like how I inevitably need you...