Home coming.

Living on the edge, you have to be careful not to trip or slip and fall off.
The geese come again; they come by the tens, twenties, fifties
They come again. Every year they come.
The geese come in their big flocks of V’s, making the sky dark.
They come again. Every year they come to nest.
The town’s people gather on the dock, breaths hot steam in the cold air.
Seals and whales gather in the inlet, content, just to watch, that they can see.
Do they look for the peace that surrounds us, that cannot be seen?
The Swans have long gone, white snow and their white wings.
Sun setting, giving homage to the day, the end of day, or the beginning of night?
The little Hummingbird has made it back, just so amassing, and such a little thing in the cold.
Some come for the comfort, some for the lies as the sun falls to the earth.
Such a journey for the little Hummingbird, you hear it long before seen, so busy.
A few cry while others laugh, some sing and shout their delight.
Little Hummer, never still, flower to flower, for to stop is to die.
Walking off the dock, by twos and fours, back to what they believe, they live.
Life on the Edge is too much for some, too close to the raw truth of life, for others cannot stay!
Watch for the swallows, they come by the hundreds to make nests, eat our bugs.
Water, tranquil, peaceful, waiting for a person to trip, slip off the Edge and slip into peaceful.
Make their nests, raise the young, let them fledge; send them back, from the peaceful edge.
Peaceful waters, dark, waiting to comfort those that trip, slip under the raw truth.
Sandhill cranes come to dance, their dance of love, mate for life.
Dancing and singing for the dark waters, slipping my hands into your clean, cold comfort.