Silly-goose

The sky is winter-pale, but bright. It is damp and cold, but I see the signs of spring... my primroses are in flower, the osmanthus is shooting, the christmas box outside the dining room window is blooming. It smells so clean outside and the air is refreshing. The mist clung to my eyelashes as I walked down to the river this morning and fed old bread to the birds.

Geese are such pushy creatures, and today they called up memories of that summer with Grandmother, in Santa Cruz, when I went to feed the geese and they charged me. They were so tall--their eyes looked directly into mine--and I fell backwards, clutching the paper bag of stale bread. Of course they dove for it, and of course, I was terrified by all those birds surrounding me, their wings flapping, their beaks diving for me. I got up and ran to the car and they followed me -- I still held the bag. I remember them surrounding the car, looking in at me, their beaks opening and closing...

Today I know to toss the bread away from me and keep it coming fast enough that they don't come after me. And I am done, I walk quickly away, and watch them from a distance.

I think sometimes that I react to people the way I do to geese.

Since childhood, I was overwhelmed by people, by their apparent desire for what I had, and it seemed that they pursued me, even to the point of delving inside me, pecking and pulling at my soul. I would huddle in that saferoom of my mind, relying on glass to protect me from what frightened me.

Today, I am still on my guard with people, but I try to give willingly what I think they want. Sometimes I give until I am empty, and then I distance myself, and observe. Will they want more, I wonder, even when I have nothing left to give?