Lone Goose

<---Sasquatch Park, 2004. 6"x4" acrylic and canvas

We returned to Sasquatch Park for a little camping. This time, we arrived to blue skies and sparkling water. After selecting our camp site, unpacking and setting up, we took a walk down to the lake. That's when I first noticed, we were camped right behind the spot we had last year.

As we approached the lake, we heard a sound that stopped our hearts, and then made us laugh a little self consciously. The sound was the honking of a lone goose. As we rounded the bend, the lake appeared to us, and sure enough, swimming lazily around the dock, was a single goose.

Last year, during one of our nightly walks around the lake, we settled to smoke a little wacky tabacky on the dock when we heard the desperate peep-peep-peeping of a tiny water borne creature.

We heard him before we saw him swim into the weak light of our headlamps. A tiny gosling was making a bee line towards us. Our hearts bent towards the little tyke, my husband reached down and gently spoke to the baby animal, gently stroking his back and neck. The goslings gratitude at finding he wasn't alone in the dark was palpable. We stayed with the gosling for a good hour or two before the dawn. Gently speaking to him, scanning the lake bed for signs of his family nesting, or for a glimpse of his mother, searching. We saw nothing but the stillness of night, and the odd raptor skimming over tree's and buzzing the surface of the lake. Naturally, we were concerned our new friend wouldn't survive the night. My husband sweetly indulged me in praying for protection of this spritely survivor, and we made our way back to our tent. Shortly after that our blood ran cold as the sound of a screeching owl reached us from the direction of the lake.

The next day we searched for our little buddy among the half dozen or so goose families roaming up and down the lake looking for food. We didn't see any families that matched him. He was a few to several weeks older than the oldest looking chicks we saw. No other families seemed to have any babes of his age. We feared the worst, but wondered.

When my husband and I first heard that lone honk welcoming us back to the park this year, we didn't have to say a thing, we saw it in each other, the hope, the wish that our friend was well and good, and so got the giggles.

We noticed and commented on the lack of other geese in the area, figuring they've already left for the season, apart from this one lone singer, we saw no other Geese for the duration of our visit.

We sat at the end of the dock, and observed as the goose swam in wide circles around us, wary of our little dog with big teeth.

It was still early in the day, the sun was bright and sparkled like tossed silver in pockets of shadow. I easily fell into a reverie, a delicious not here, not there sensation. An in and out of the breath in time with the ripples and breezes of the lake, I felt like I was bringing in, through my breath, the actual atmosphere I was sitting in. I felt peaceful.

It reminded me of what Don Juan said about the wind, and spirits. I suddenly felt that I understood what he was taking about, I felt it. Like I felt this place, I felt like the winds around me were a sort of barometer for the feelings of this place, and suddenly, I felt caressed, welcomed back by a dear friend. It was eerie and lovely.

My husband brought me out by remarking on the difference in wind this visit, compared to last. I had to laugh because of what I had been thinking, and agree with what he was saying.

Last year was record setting hot and devestating for our forrests. Fire bans were in effect by April as more than half of the usual annual fire's were already in full bloom. Our whole visit last year, unfolded under thunderous skies in violent hues of blue and green and mauve and pink. The colours were magnificent, the mood oppressive. We were withdrawing from nicotine, and I for one felt my mood more than matched the weather. I felt so raw that year, and this place was the perfect place to feel it. It was wet, mid week and abandoned. The ground was muddy, sending an earthy note to the air, the brush was wet, adding an acrid, fresh tone to the local aroma, and the trees whispered way above my head.

The serenity of this year stood out in stark contrast to my stormy memories of last year. I began to tell him about what I had been thinking, about winds and moods and places when a mother and daughter walked down the dock towards us, the winds began to pick up. The mother began asking us about fishing, and if we'd caught anything. Fairly quickly the wind rose up to quite a pitch, so much so the woman and child retreated from us holding back their hair and garments.

Whoosh. The wind settled down.

We laughed, it was as though the wind demonstrated to us the very principles I barely even had time to mention. A man and his son came next, they began down the dock, hesitated, turned and walked down the beach. And finally a third couple made it as far down the dock before another huge gust of wind threw a wall up, a quick defeat. Sasquatch Lake winds 3, Human Beings 0.

We smiled at each other, gazed out over the lake, addressed the goose and admidst perfect weather, split a cigar.

Ahh summer time.