THE WILD GEESE 31 



crippled wings with the same wild longing to fly 

 away high and far and long into the air. 



It is little that most of us in the middle states 

 know of the wild geese besides this passing. But 

 who has not seen the wonderful wedge, like a har- 

 row moving across the sky, or the long file, like a 

 strange many-oared racing shell, swimming the 

 clouds I Who has not heard the thrilling trumpet- 

 call out of the star-depths of the silent autumn 

 night ? 



Yes, even in the heart of a vast city I have 

 awakened at the cloud-echoed cry, far off, weird, 

 and haunting. 



High and swift as they move, their flight is still 

 a long and dangerous one. For the bird is flesh 

 and such speed rapidly exhausts him. His wings 

 must rest. The flier must have food. And 

 awaiting him on the earth is a line of enemies as 

 long and as continuous as his journey. 



Fogs obscure the way; storms hinder; noises 

 confuse ; and often, most dangerous of all, across 

 the brittle, bracing air of the course blows a thick, 

 warm wind that sends the whole flock reeling and 

 sagging exhausted to the earth. Hundreds of 

 geese one day, overcome by a sudden heat-wave, 

 dropped upon a small pond back of my home, and 



