The grey geese

As we sat, the writing group  
on Par beach between the water and the land
kind gradient, a gentle slope
conversation trickled like grains of sand
 
Beneath our fingers ,do you suppose, September's cool
and idle thoughts of inspiration rose
 sky and clouds we wandered in that vestibule
 sinking sun drew that day unto a close
 
And low on the horizon's curve
we squinted held a hand to our forehead
the arrowhead without a swerve
in stately  progress, straight ahead
 
I cried with glee "grey geese I see"
the dogs still ran to chase a ball
what did they know, did they perceive
to fly the miles and never stall
 
For greener grass or fresher pond
 their flight path marked invisible
by generations over sea and land that wound
 to the tranquil sword so hospitable
 
The chevron slowly flapping wings
in solemn grace, to that reach the landing zone  
the necks outstretched into the wind
they came from Netherland's  to home
 
No customs post or boarder check  
to leave and never to look back
go as you are, no need to pack
unvarnished joy and no shellac  
 
Each scane as sunset dawned outlined
to find the nest to roost
a head under the wing, its blackout blind
on the river bank or shady nook
 
My dream to wake a crack of dawn
 rise from this dull common ground
 join them as they trek airborne
and honk and fly the world around

Not soured now with age and pain
be the Peter Pan of fairy tale
the aeronaut with time unchained
and walk the un-trod trail