HONK

HONK is today’s word prompt from “The Daily Post” on WordPress. Honk if you love Jesus, the bumper sticker on the car in front invites me to do. I don’t. I love Jesus, I do, I just don’t honk to create confusion in other drivers’ minds, causing them to look around and question what they did wrong. They didn’t do anything wrong.

So, what do I do with this silly word?

One day last fall, I heard urgent honks outside. I abandoned my peach chutney, left simmering on the stove, and dashed outside to see what was the matter.

Must be a fire truck, emitting a series of deep blasts from its horns instead of the usual wail of siren. However, no traffic at all drove down our street, only Canada geese streaking above my head, barely clearing the peaks of houses in our neighborhood. I was the only person gawking at the sky.

Probably, I remember thinking, they were rushing to be first in line to peck in the mud flats around the pond at Randall Park, along with mallards.

When my children were young, I used to drive them down to Randall with little bags of stale bread to feed the wild geese and ducks. In more recent years, my daughter and I took her young children down with their own bread bags. However, the park authorities no longer allow visitors to feed these beautiful greedy creatures. Wildlife must rely on nature for sustenance, then move on. That is only right, of course, but I don’t have to like it.

See “Male or Female” blog posted September 20, 2017

 

 

Author: www.rosesintherainmemoir.wordpress.com

Celebrating just over fifty years of holy matrimony, I am blessed to be a mother of two and grandmother of seven. Much of my writing speaks to the culture and tradition of the Deep South, where I spent the first thirty-five years of my life before relocating to the Pacific Northwest. As a poet and essayist, I’ve published both online and in print media. I launched this INVITATION TO THE GARDEN blog the summer of 2017 on WordPress.com. I look forward to hearing your stories, too!

2 thoughts on “HONK”

  1. I love geese. I have such happy memories of feeding them with the stale bread the bakery would give away for nothing. My grandchildren squealed with delight and we’d climb onto the picnic tables by the lake to escape their impatient pecking at our bags.

    Like

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