I miss big water. This three-acre pond above the zoo just does not compare to Lake Michigan or Lake Superior. Yet, it does have its own charms. A grandmother and her two tiny grandchildren are feeding the multitudes of Canada geese and mallard ducks handsful of grain while a squabble of seagulls observe. The flocks approach, but not too closely. I am privileged to be the audience to an aerial ballet as skeins of geese converge from every point on the compass, crossing each other’s paths without a single collision. The airborne birds maintain a holding pattern until they can land on the water as the floating flocks swim shoreward and clumsily waddle towards the bounty, shoving the early arrivals out of their way. And still, the seagulls observe.
Her gallon of grain exhausted, Grandma and her charges depart. The mallards surge forwards to gobble the corn that has fallen at and under the picnic table. The sky clears of all but the puffy clouds as geese and ducks settle on the pond’s surface. I think the gulls recognize my car, for they have gathered around it. I finish my burger and reach for the bag of French fries. They’re not for me. Breaking off bits, I toss them out the car window and am entertained by another ballet, both aerial and terrestrial as more than 30 gulls jockey for the tidbits. Yes, I know I’m not supposed to feed human food to wild birds, and while that may hold true for the ducks and geese, gulls are scavengers which will eat anything.
The music, Andrew Peterson’s “Light for the Lost Boy” pulls my heart in one direction as it speaks to the losses of the past year: a sister, a cousin, a nephew. The golden sun, blue and white sky, and myriads of birds pull my heart in another direction: heavenwards. I contemplate the beauty of the scene before me and try to imagine the beauty of the world when it is made new. When gaggles of geese and flocks of ducks will not scatter before the approach of a human being. When “the lion shall lie down with the lamb” and “the little child shall play at the cobra’s nest.” When there shall be no more pain or sorrow and every tear shall be wiped dry by the hand of the Savior. What a day that shall be!
The fries are gone and most of the gulls take wing. Three, however stand their ground a few feet from the car door begging for more; their cries like the mewing of a herd of cats. It’s time for me to go. The path leads around the zoo and through the wooded park. The bull elk’s antlers are still covered in velvet, but it won’t be long before he rubs it off and the rut is on. One lone bison grazes at the farthest extreme of their enclosure while the remainder gather under the shelter. The goats and deer are nowhere to be seen, but the wolves are alert and excited, running back and forth. Under the canopy, most of the leaves are down and I can see the sky through the bare branches that arch over the lane. Just a week ago, the heavens were shrouded by green leaves. Autumn is here. Winter will follow, and by God’s grace, spring will return once more.
Kathy Kexel 