It was a dark night, and relatively quiet for early June. The crickets were peeping gently, but not with the sort of aggressive volume that is common at this time of year. The frogs, too, were nodding sleepily, jumping awake every now and again to sing, only to drift off again a minute later. The day had been cloudy and lukewarm, but the air was growing moist and promising a humid dawn. All was about as still as it could get for a night in early summer.
I was in bed. Actually, I was half in bed, half out of bed. It wasn't hot yet, but I knew it would be, and that going to sleep under the covers would be a mistake. The window next to my bed was shut, and all the (admittedly tame) sounds from outside were pleasantly muffled. The curtain was drawn.
Suddenly, I heard a disturbance coming from outside, a noise that I couldn't quite place. I sat up and crawled over to the window, pushing it up a few inches so I could listen more closely. At once a cool breeze wafted in, gently caressing me with the smell of mowed grass. The sound continued, now much sharper, and I recognized it immediately.
"HONK."
I felt my brows draw together in surprise. Geese? At midnight? I could not see them through the darkness, but the sound was unmistakeable; A gaggle of geese flying—or perhaps walking—very nearby. I heard no other unusual sounds, I saw nothing out of the ordinary, but for some unknowable reason, a flock of phantom geese had decided to start kicking up a fuss out of nowhere. I didn't know what to make of it.
This continued for a few minutes, and I sat hunched by the window, transfixed until their calls began to fade away. Finally, I leaned back on my bed and got into sleeping position again—turned to the side, hands tucked under the pillow, one leg straight, one bent. As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about how boring my day had been. I hadn't even written anything because it had been so boring. But then, just as I was about to file the day under the "boring" category in my brain and forget about it forever, the geese had appeared (or probably appeared, they might not have). Now I could say that the day ended without being completely void of bizarre experiences.
YOU ARE READING
Counting Down the Days
PoetryIt is the summer before I leave for college, and I am staring into the empty abyss before me, wondering what to do with my life. In this collection, I am challenging myself to write something every day (now adjusted to every 2-3 days). I may write p...
