I loved to watch them fly, those wild geese.
In my dreams, I was one of them. I felt the magic, the way to catch the wind, to soar above the roads packed with cars and trucks, all filled with angry people stuck, stuck, stuck.
I woke up every morning, arms splayed, sheets kicked off the bed.
As the days passed, I was certain I could hear something as I walked past the geese swimming in the lake. And I felt – lighter.
The days grew colder. Something was changing. I was changing. I was getting restless, and I was still hearing that something, something that was becoming clearer. The wild geese could hear it, too.
Something told the wild geese it was time to fly.
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