Mother Goose & Mate @ Cove Island Park. 6:29 a.m. Tuesday, April 20, 2021.
Tag: Goose
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night…
133 pictures taken on my morning walk. And only THIS one stirs the soul. Mother Goose @ Cove Island Park. 6:49 a.m. Saturday, April 17, 2021.
Nest. Where you make it.
And her mate was just to her right, keeping watch…
DK & Daybreak. Dense Fog. Cove Island Park. 7:26 a.m. April 11, 2021. 51° F.
T.G.I.F.: Running. With Mother Goose (3).
4:48 a.m. 8 hours of sleep. Rested.
I jump out of bed. Dress. Gear up.
It’s 5:04 a.m., and I’m out the door. Running. With Mother Goose. (Again.) 9th consecutive day pulled outside by The Call of the Wild.
44° F, feels like 42° F. No wind. No traffic. Dark. Full moon beams from up above. Jenny Offill: “The moonlight through the windshield. No one talks.”
Same route. Down the hill. Around the corner. Down the street to U.S. 1.
There, up ahead, silhouetted under the street lamp, is the Masked Woman. 5:09 a.m. Can’t be her. No chance. She hustles across the street. I glare at her. You better make way for me Lady. She says nothing, but sweeps both hands up to cover her face. It’s going to be a good day.
I run.
Down U.S. 1. I work my way around the construction, crossing the bridge, the highway and into The Cove.
The same pair of geese stand at the entrance, that’s them in the photo above.
I pause for a moment to snap the shot, and keep moving, pulled forward towards the main performance.
The same acceleration of heartbeat.
The same anticipation.
Continue reading “T.G.I.F.: Running. With Mother Goose (3).”
Running. With Mother Goose (2).
5:15 a.m.
In bed.
Both knees ache. Hips sore to the bone. I pass my right foot over my left toe, blister forming. I slide it further, abrasions on the tips of my little toes. Raw.
This would be the 8th consecutive day of running. My body screams No. But that’s not going to happen. She’s responsible. I must see if she’s there.
I check my watch. 43° F, feels like 39°. I bundle up.
5:35 a.m. and I’m out the door. Running. With Mother Goose. (Again.)
My pace is too quick. I’m winded at 0.5 miles, and she’s at 1.7. My God, you’re a child. So anxious to see Her.
I slow my pace and cross U.S. 1 into The Cove.
I see two of them at the turn, and stop to take a picture. That one above. Pink sky in the morning, sailor’s…
I shake the disappointment off. Her nest was further up. Maybe that’s not them.
I run, eyes looking ahead for her nesting along the guard rail. Christmas Eve at 8 years old.