My morning is already filled with snow geese,
a glittering necklace against the blue blouse of sky.
This morning, flight in all directions;
a barely organized group just lifting off
heads west toward Seneca,
while a properly aligned gaggle
gracefully sails east to Cayuga.
In the fields, hundreds of white heads,
late risers, perhaps still discussing their course.
My holy moment —
as drivers speed by, eyes ahead, coffee in hand,
unaware of the splendor
to be had by looking up, around,
inside and beyond
