Spring in Vermont.

Tomorrow is the Spring Equinox. Today, snow flurries.

Returning to my office after an early class, I stepped into a wind that scattered the snow and my hair across my face, blurring my sight. Overhead, a lone Canada goose called out, its voice forlorn, searching. Geese mate for life, forming bonds that endure season after season. To hear one alone feels almost unbearable.

I know I’m projecting, giving human shape to an animal cry, but the sound carries something like anguish. It’s hard to mistake.