On the north side of Buffalo Road, just past the dance studio and art gallery, lies a now-harvested corn field. There is no longer any hint of the tall green stalks. Only three inch brown stubs dot the rich earth.
This morning the field was completely blanketed with geese scrounging up breakfast. There must have been hundreds of big gray and black birds pecking in the dirt for grubs and wriggling bugs and leftover corn kernels.
They made no sound at all. If you didn't look close, you wouldn't realize that they were there, so ghost-like was their nature. There was no flying about even in short hops, no arguing for ownership of some tasty morsel, no strutting or wing flapping. They simply stood silently, heads down, busy about the business of harvesting their own feast.
Rather reminded me of a room filled with students taking a test upon which the entire course grade depended. Serious business. I wonder how long the geese will hang around fattening themselves against the cold of winter before they migrate further south.
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