They are back. I heard them this evening at dusk in the paddock. And they did for me what they have done for others, capturing me, lifting me above the clamour of our short-sighted world. I am familiar with the poems by Wendell Berry and Mary Oliver, but many years ago I fell for the poetry of Patrick Kavanagh and his words unwind themselves in my head whenever I hear the wild geese.
Beyond the Headlines
Then I saw the wild geese flying
In fair formation to their bases in Inchicore
And I knew that these wings would outwear the wings of war
And a man’s simple thoughts outlive the day’s loud lying.
Don’t fear, don’t fear, I said to my soul.
The Bedlam of Time is an empty bucket rattled,
‘Tis you who will say in the end who best battled.
Only they who fly home to God have flown at all.