Subject: FYI

From: [email-masked]
Date: Mon, 14 Feb 2005 14:09:18 EST

Nature at it's best! rjs.
 
Goose And Swans
by Charlotte Edwards  1-11-05 

Where we live, on the Eastern shore of  Maryland, the gentle waters run in 
and out like fingers tapering at the tips.  They curl into the smaller creeks 
and coves like tender  palms.

The Canadian geese know this place, as do the white swans and the  ducks who 
ride an inch above the waves of Chesapeake Bay as they skim their way  into 
harbor. In the autumn, by the thousands, they come home for the  winter.

The swans move toward the shores in a stately glide, their tall  heads proud 
and unafraid. They lower their long necks deep into the water, where  their 
strong beaks dig through the river bottoms for food. And there is, between  the 
arrogant swans and the prolific geese, an indifference, almost a disdain.  
Once or twice each year, snow and sleet move into the  area.

When this happens, if the river is at its narrowest, or the creek  shallow, 
there is a freeze that turns the water to ice. It was on  such a morning, near 
Osford, Maryland, that a friend of mine set the breakfast  table beside the 
huge window, which overlooked the Tred Avon River. Across the  river, beyond the 
dock, the snow laced the rim of the shore in white. For a  moment she stood 
quietly, looking at what the night's storm had  painted.

Suddenly she leaned forward and peered close to the frosted  window. "It 
really is," she cried out loud, "there is a goose out there." She  reached to the 
bookcase and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Into their sights  came the 
figure of a large Canada goose, very still, its wings folded tight to  its sides, 
its feet frozen solidly to the ice.

Then from the dawn skies, she  saw a line of swans emerge. They moved in 
singular formation, graceful,  intrepid, and free. They crossed from the west of 
the broad creek high above the  house, moving steadily to the east.

As my friend watched, the leader  swung to the right, then the white string 
of birds became a white circle. It  floated from the top of the sky downward.

At last, as easy as  feathers drifting to earth, the circle descended on the 
ice. My friend was  on her feet now, with one unbelieving hand against her 
mouth.  As the swans  surrounded the frozen goose, she feared what life he still 
had might be pecked  out by those great swan bills.

Instead, amazingly, those  imposing  bills began to work on the ice. The long 
necks were thrusted up  and curved down, again and again; it went on for a 
long time. At last, the goose  was rimmed by a narrow margin of ice instead of 
the entire  creek.

The swans rose again, following the leader, and hovered in that  circle, 
awaiting the results of their labors. The goose's head slowly  lifted.  Its body 
pulled. Then the goose was free and standing on the ice.  He  moved his big 
webbed feet slowly, hesitantly, as the  swans hovered in the air, watching. Then, 
as if he had cried, "I still  cannot fly," four of the swans swept down 
around him. Their powerful beaks  scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, 
scuttled under its wings  and up its body, chipping off the ice clinging to the 
feathers.  Slowly, as if testing, the goose extended its wings as far as they 
would  go, shook them thoroughly, brought them together, accordion-like, and 
then  spread them again.

When at last the wings reached their fullest, the  four swans took off and 
joined the waiting group above. They resumed their  eastward journey, in perfect 
formation, to their secret destination.   Behind them, rising with incredible 
speed and joy, the goose moved into the sky.  He followed them, flapping 
double-time, until he caught up, at last joining  the end of the line, like a 
small child trailing an older  boys' crack-the-whip line.

My friend watched them until they  disappeared over the tips of the distant 
trees. Only then did she realize that  tears were running down her cheeks and 
had been for how long she didn't  know.

This is a true story. I do not try to interpret it.  I think of it when I am 
distressed by humans' cruelty --to one  another and to the Earth's other 
creatures.  From it comes one  hopeful question: If such behavior is possible for 
birds, why not for  man?