Lone Goose Flying

Lone goose flying,

low, honking, in blue sky, in rising sun, sliver moon soon fading,

owl hooting, coyotes yipping, welcome voices in the silent solitude,

 revealing within a natural softening gratitude,

waking on the ground from sleep, after a night so dark, so deep,

with crisp air nipping, and campfire warm and crackling,

in this place, in this natural sacred space,

I resolve to be unbound by a “yes… but!” constraint, not to faint,

with a fire still burning in my heart, to do my simple part,

live my life to death still trying, even if I am a

lone goose flying.

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