Signs of the Season

Ahhhhh. Sitting at dusk on the soccer fields, with the odor of fresh manure and maybe a faraway leaf bonfire, watching local geese wheel overhead on their way to the ponds to the north as the sun plummets down behind Tom Miller's fields. Like wobbly strings tethered to invisible kites, five strands of migrating geese barrel due south, toward the cornfields of Harford and Richford and points far far beyond.

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