When we see wild geese flying over the valley here, it's perhaps 7 or 8.
This lunchtime, coming back from Totnes, approximately 200 flew ahead of me crossing the hillside, in several breaking vees. Hard to keep the car on an even course: I wanted to stop, get out, jubilate, fly.
So many poets write about them (Mark Doty, Mary Oliver, Kathleen Jamie for 3).
Here's the Mark Doty one I'm thinking of: http://www.dactyls-and-drakes.com/literatu…/poetry/migratory
And here's one of my own about wild swans (does that count?), written on the Isle of Iona, about migrating whoopers:
After we’d trudged so far to the pass at the top
of the island, rain and wind beating our faces,
rising like a single uncluttered thought
from the lochan’s dark mouth a pair of swan,
whoopers, passing through to Siberia,
their curd-white a thickening, a measure
of silence hefted against grey air,
their presence an act of grace, almost a prayer.
© Roselle Angwin, in All the Missing Names of Love, IDP
Do you know about this inspiring project? https://www.flightoftheswans.org/
'One woman. 7,000 km. 11 countries. By paramotor.WWT's daring bid to fly with one of nature’s great migrations on a quest to save Bewick’s swans.'
They could do with our help.