I heard the geese last night. It was the full harvest moon and they must have been taking advantage of the light to make a few more miles south. It was bright, almost light enough to read by the bedroom window. I love to hear the geese. When I was a kid my father would sing "My heart knows what the wild goose knows, I must go where the wild goose goes" a Frankie Laine hit about a wanderer who leaves the woman he loves for the wild life - a song my father seemed to like a lot more than Bucky did.

The geese have always been a symbol to me of the changing seasons, the onset of fall and the long winter, and in the spring, the promise of warm weather and summer. I love to hear the honks, almost like dogs barking and to search the sky looking for the tell tale V formation. Last March, probably just a week or so before Maria died, I was waiting with Solomon for his bus to come to pick him up. I heard the sound, and sure enough, there they were, coming north, a big V. I pointed them out to Solomon, "Look, Solly, the geese are flying north, they're making a big V in the sky." Then, there were more, several flocks, making the familiar noise, making the familiar formation. "A big V, and another big V", I pointed out to Solomon. His head pointed up, he said nodding, "Yes, just like Darth Vader" - he was and still is big time into Star Wars. After that we yelled "It's Darth Vader, Darth Vader is coming - more Darth Vader", with laughs of joy. After I returned home, I phoned Maria and was telling her about introducing Solomon to the migrating geese and how he related it to Darth Vader. She answered warmly, "Oh, Ma, what a wonderful memory for him." And that's what it is - a memory of all the times I've pointed out the geese - all the years and seasons past and to come.

Today I heard two sisters talking on local tv that they named their farm "Gansvoort" after the old Dutch name which literally means goose crossing. My sister Kathleen lives in Gansvoort and Gansvoort is a name associated with the Huson Valley, which is a real goose crossing, a regular route for the geese to go north and south by. But I had never heard the translation. I like it though, that's what the geese symbolize, crossing, leaving summer, going into winter, and then in reverse. Hoping to still be here to see them come back, but never knowing. I always plant spring bulbs with that same thought, "wonder if I'll be here to see them flowering" - it's a small leap of faith and hope for the future.