Let's go for a walk. The morning is foggy and not too cold. The air is still and except for our footsteps on the path all is quiet. Even the geese out on the lake are silent for now, but they are a quarrelsome bunch and unlikely to be quiet for long. When the fog starts to lift, they will fly off together to spend the morning picking over a nearby farm field. It happens like this: one goose suggests it is time to go with a raspy two note call—hronk-a. Another goose agrees—hronk-a...hronk-a. Soon they all join in and, in a loud, excited hronk-a cacophony, rise from the water in unison. Geese love to fly. The noise is deafening; you can't even hear yourself think.
But it is not a morning for thinking; it is a morning for seeing and listening. The geese are gone now and it is silent once again. Let's see how the woods look on a foggy, winter morning.
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