28 12 07

At night I sleep dreaming under goose down. Heavy in the early morning on the peat bog I’m mazed by a solitary goose struggling to get airborne - a mastery of muscle & pneumatic bone over gravity - & when she’s joined by a vibrant honking hooting cavalcade of score upon score, following in an untidy raggle of flight, up, yapping up, then for me, awake now, it’s also willing them aloft to circle & make off celebrating life & flight; uplifting & uproarious all at once.

There’s two sorts of goose here, the barnacle, all black & white & the grey lag, with its pink bill. This enormous gaggle is the largest I’ve seen; up to a hundred birds. I’m still smiling as the skeins make off to the south barking all the way; & at four to five pounds weight each bird I’m still lost at the power of feather clad muscle; each of my watery steps across the bog makes sucking noises accentuating my weight, my pressure on the goose feeding grounds.