Each morning is a bit colder than the previous. Five degrees yesterday, four today. The sun lumbers up into a clear morning sky, scaring off a light mist that had been loitering over the distant strawberry field and honestly getting just a bit too comfortable with itself.

A group of geese has congregated there. “It’s a cold morning,” one observes. “I can see my breath,” says another. This causes several of them to make huh-huh noises so they could see their breath, too. “Is it time to go?” “Not yet, not yet.” They continue on like that for a while, it’s the way geese are. Shuffling, plucking, talking about the weather.

It gets quiet for a bit, and then a younger one says “Maybe we could stay this year.” “What?” in chorus. A wave of murmuring follows. “Well, it’s a lot of work, flying south every year. Maybe we stay this year. See what it’s like,” he defended.

There was another brief silence, and then a “We’d need toques.” This came from the back. “And scarves!” From the left somewhere. “Sweaters!” one called out, simply. “Maybe a down jacket!” This one realized too late what he was saying, and hung his head in shame even before the stern looks arrived. “Is there food here in the winter?” “There’s a Tim Horton’s around the corner.” “Oh, that would do.” “I have a gift card!” “Coffee gives me jitters.” And so on.

A larger one, clearly the leader of the group, shuffles forward, annoyed. “We can’t stay here for the winter. It’s not our way!” he declares. “Who says?” from the back. “Yeah, who decided that?” “What do you mean?” stumbles the leader. “We mean, who decided we don’t like winter and must fly south every year? This is funny way to run a democracy!” called an older one in front. “This isn’t a democracy!” retorted the leader. “You’re right about that!” hysterically from the middle. More murmuring followed.

Quiet. Gentle shuffling. “I can’t see my breath anymore,” said one. “Huh-huh. Huh-huh,” breathed many. “Maybe it’s gone south.”

“Is it time yet?” “Soon, soon.”

Geese are silly birds.