08-049
"For
Whom The Goose Flies"
"Die
like a man, fly like a goose." (Zes Hoo)
Some of us older, perishable
folks tend to forget that our demise could be nearer than we think it is; that now
might be time to contemplate what's next, once it's over. By which time we
might be too old to imagine anything else but a decent burial blessed by a mediocre
memorial-service. As for me, I prefer the idea of reincarnation with a twist:
coming back to earth as a different being. Not as another person, of course,
no. I've decided that in my next life I'll show up as a "Branta
Canadensis", meaning a Canada Goose. Here's why.
There are a few things I very
much have in common with the Brantas, one of them being a strong craving for coastal
waterways, peninsular bays and lakes. Those big birds enjoy some of the best bodies
of water, and for good reasons. Take a bath, swim a while, paddle around, stick
your head below, look at old tires, bottles, some fish; nibble on weeds, squawk
a bit. Sure beats resting in peace six feet under.
Eating is big with Branta Geese,
and since they are predominantly vegetarians, they favor better lawns and
gardens everywhere. Just recently a bunch of them landed in my place to feed on
the tender tips of my best Kentucky Blue grass. Next day, they fertilized my
lawn by means of their prodigious digestive system, then left again. A couple
of weeks later, my well-manured turf showed new signs of growth. I was tempted
to taste the fresh crop but couldn't quite stomach the aroma. For now I just
smoke the stuff while waiting to join the Brantas in my next life.
Last not least, I like the Brantas'
frequent-flyer program. Just think. You just watered your belly in a sun-lit pond
for an hour or so. You then helped yourself to the daily treat of lush
greenery, and soon thereafter nature's call gets answered. Next, you get ready
to join the flock of feathered aviators for take-off into the skies. There are
all kinds of short excursions to selected gourmet hang-outs, and twice a year you
go on long-distance trips down south or back north.
What's more, you're blessed with
two strong, well-plumed wings on a good body, a long neck sporting a fist-sized
head that is home to a state-of-the-art navigation-system the size of a hazelnut.
Add to that the routine of V-shaped flight-formation in favorable weather, plus
the geographic scenery some three thousand feet below you. It so blows your
mind, and there's nothing to stop you from screeching with sheer ecstasy while well
underway to better pastures.
So let's face it: life after
death can't get any better. Swim, eat, purge and fly. Go Branta, and I'll see
you up there. Just like that.