"God in Nature"

[shelley]

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GOD IN NATURE

Where we live, on the Eastern shore of Maryland, the gentle waters
run in and out like fingers slimming 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 which hardens 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 storm had painted.

Sudden 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 Canadian goose, very still, its
wings folded tight to its sides, its feet frozen to the ice.

Then from the dark skies, she saw a line of swans. They moved in
their own 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 coming to earth, the circle landed 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 instead, those bills began to work on the ice.
The long necks were lifted 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 lifted. Its body pulled. Then the goose was free
and standing on the ice. He was moving his big, webbed feet slowly.
And the swans stood in the air watching. Then, as if he had cried "I
cannot fly!", four of the swans came down around him. Their powerful
beaks scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, scuttled under its
wings and rose up its body, chipping off and melting the ice held in
its feathers.

Slowly, as if testing, the goose spread its wings as far as they
would go, brought them together, accordion-like, and spread again.

When at last the wings reached their fullest, the four swans took
off and joined the hovering group. 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, until he joined the last end of the line, like a small child at the
end of a crack-the-whip of older boys.

My friend watched them until they disappeared over the tips of the
farthest trees. Only then, in the dusk which was suddenly deep, did
she realize that tears were running down her cheeks and had been for
how long she did not know.

via Bluesilk9