Maybe the Goose is in the Wind

The sopping, swollen wind is a constant drive today, heated from the friction of its own movement.  Although it does not belong, I am grateful for its temperature and reminded of months to come when it will bite notches from my skin, unless I escape, migrate or beam up.

Have you ever seen a predatory flock or group of animals keep watch over an injured animal or something that does not belong ( weak or injured animals are cast out as not belonging)? I remember finding a Canadian goose on the beach one day last winter. 

The goose was propped up on one brittle, orange leg like a lollipop, the ocean beating the sand in front of it.  The neck curved like an apse, its heavy beak hidden inside an envelope of feathers. Seagulls swarmed like slowed down coyotes, their chests starched with confidence.  Beady-eyed and motionless, the gulls had formed a killing cloud.

The projected story was that the goose had given up with silence and dignity, but was still strong enough to stand.  Perhaps this is what attracted hundreds of gulls; strength and surrender, a compelling mixture.

A few of the gulls saddled up next to the goose.  It was clear to me they did not wish to be real ‘bird friends,’ rather they were positioning themselves as Alpha gulls, wise and charming enough to eat another alive.  When a pair of the webbed orange gull feet hopped forward, out came the goose head in slow motion.  Then, in disinterested surrender, the goose slid its brain back into its feathered sheath.

The goose did not know that some two-legged mammal would eventually herd it into someone’s yard.  It struck me that, as creatures, there must be some DNA switch that shuts us off when things outnumber the odds for survival

I wondered… had the gull gone a step further, maybe given a bird elbow jab to say “Come on, hang with me, I care, its not about chewing on your pulsing carcass,” if the goose would be smarter than us two legged mammals.  I would like to assume that the goose DNA could not be reckoned with, and that no self-respecting goose would fall for such trickery.

Today, in this misplaced, Caribbean wind, is the exclamation of what does not belong.  Although air currents have no brain or intelligence; they are broad and free from predation.  They go in swirls around a giant sphere never knowing of belonging, weakness or surrender.  They just are.  No matter what our interpretations or weighty wishes, they remain an artifact of the millions of things we will never understand.

Comments

[LTO]

I feel for the goose... being somewhat of an outcast myself now, I can understand finding the strength still there to stand but not much else. Perhaps the goose was saving what little strength it had left to try and fly away to safety.
I know about the predators always circling, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce upon the wounded....I also know there is something inside said wounded that won't just give up the fight. I have seen this behavior in animals as well as two legged mammals. The will to live beyond the pain, a spark inside that is an eternal flame....
Sometimes the wish is for that flame to just disappear, to be blown out maybe by the warm, wind that we will never understand....Understanding will not come in this lifetime and maybe not even the next but some understanding always comes around in small spurts, just enough to keep us interested I believe.
For now, I will hope that goose made a stand against the gulls and found it's way to safety. As for us tormented outcasts, I will continue to be ever wary of the predators that are circling, waiting for me to expose my throat for that life ending bite and I will keep my head buried, saving strength for that last push to go home.

[Peter]

I hope I'm not derailing your thread but this is a true story about me and the goose about two years ago.

I landed first on the right side of my head and was surprised by the loudness of the sound. I wasn’t going that fast on my bike. I was hurt but conscious and was happy to be able to move my feet and hands. The blood was everywhere on my face and shirt. I could hear many of the Canada geese in the pond near me all honking. The pain then hit me on the right shoulder, hip and chest. I started slowly writhing on my back on the bike path. I realized that at 7 in the morning there wouldn’t be many people out to help me. I sat up and tried to stop the blood squirting from my head. I saw my bike beside me, got up and picked it up and started to walk. I thought it was funny that the front wheel had goose feathers in the spokes. I noticed the bike was not damaged and even the wheels were true.

This particular day had started out warm with blue sky and no wind, perfect for my commute to work. I usually ride about 4 miles of my commute on the rail trail, a flat, straight, well-paved bike path that goes by woods and ponds. About 2 miles down the path, I noticed a Canada goose with about 5 little chicks following her on the right side of the path. For fun I thought I would give her a little brush by. As I passed all of the chicks the mother goose suddenly opened her wings and flew directly into my front wheel taking me down hard. I had no time to lay the bike down and slide on the paved path, which is the preferred method of landing during a crash. With any luck, this would have allowed the bike to absorb some of the impact. Instead I went over the bars and hit my head on the pavement.

While walking my bike and bleeding, I meet Brian. He said he had heard and then saw me go down. Bike paths are very straight when built on old railroad beds, like this one is. We walked a relatively short distance to his car and he loaded the bike in his trunk and me into the blanketed front seat and drove to the nearest hospital. I had eight broken ribs, a collapsed right lung, lacerated scalp and two breaks in my collarbone. The Canada goose won that day, but I’m going to serve goose pate at my next party to get her back.

I now will wear a helmet.

[Bill P]

The goose has given up and does not want friends anymore. Although life is continually manifesting itself around the goose, the mental state of goose is one that we all can relate to as we see the end creeping up on us due to one form of calamity or another, whether it be illness or tragedy. When the fan is splattered in its proverbial shit from life, don't we all wish we had a wing to shove our head into, or sand to plunge our heads into? But in the end, there always seems to be that mysterious good Samaritan who feels it's their job to "save" us from ourselves, but being saved is exactly what got us into this mess to begin with. Because like the Caribbean wind that blew through our area on September 28th, now on October 3, at 55 degrees and the threat of autumn all to real, good times pass quicker than the bad ones. It takes twice as long to get over something that it does to enjoy it, and the goose probably knows that now that it has been saved.
Your sense of perception has returned to its all to vivid form Lucy, and it's good to see "you" are seemingly emerging from your CO2 fog. Today's post about your dream is untouchable to me, as I can relate to hearing those who have passed on in my life come to me in my dreams, yet nothing in my past experiences with life cannot touch a dream like that as anything I say would seeming make me out to be a poser.

[Lucy Wightman]

Peter your story is well, I felt like I was there with you, and how awful for all involved. I once wore a helmet and no longer do. Just the opposite of you. I suppose that there must have been some tense moments before Brian walked into your life this day. But the goose didn't want to win of course. Really you won in the long run and I am glad.

[Lucy Wightman]

Bill P - Was I a good Samaritan? Should I have left it all alone? Have you been saved? Have I? I have not. No. I have not. Your reference to "poser" is disturbing.

[Peter]

I belonged to a Sun Group and we wrote stories on a selected topic each month. That topic was "Blood". I thought it was a good reply to your post. I find writing very difficult and need to rewrite everything many times to make my point.
However, I drifted back into not wearing my helmet again. I just love the wind in the hair effect during biking and find wearing the helmet much less fun.
Brian was a life saver for me that morning. He actually found out where I live and visited me to see how I was doing.
I never got to clean up his car however.

[Bill P]

As one with sense of relation, my reference to "poser" is to mean simply this: On my worst day, I cannot fathom what it must feel like to lose a child. Simply put, I hate people that relate to you to try to make you feel better during times of duress. I'm sure, as a MENSA member, you can come up with a better word.
Let nature run its course, leave the bird alone, only the strong survive.
I guess the poser reference could be reedited into "sycophant," described as someone that tries to win your favor through flattery, even in its most disgusting kind.
? Some days I want to fight, and others I'd rather lick my wounds, and others I'd rather just die. I saved myself from myself many times. And I've dealt with the mess that I've created a few times too. The question is, and this relates to the bird too, is do you really want to be saved?
Like you said, the goose didn't want to win. Do you really want to beat the challenges, or just be swept away with today's tide and be washed ashore tomorrow.
Forgive me as I've weaved through both posts into one reply, and what I've turned into an intellectual arm-wrestling match is getting out of hand for me now.