Stopped at a traffic light, I watched two small clusters of geese meandering their way through the divided city street. They strolled leisurely, appearing to be completely unaware of the cars facing them in all directions. Taking a rather diagonal approach to their destination, they plodded step by web-footed step. The cars were streaming off the highway at the start of rush hour. The southbound vehicles were temporarily stopped, waiting at the light. With some concern for their safety and a bit of amusement at their single-minded determination I observed the progress of the gaggle.

Perhaps the construction that was widening the highway blocked them from a remembered watering hole. My human brain was struggling to find a rational reason for this late afternoon promenade that was compelling my attention. Why would they choose to walk rather than fly? Of course, they are hefty birds, bottom-heavy creatures. Still I knew they were capable of great flight in their magnificent V shape formations. Each autumn in New England I had heard these birds honking their way southward for the winter.

Now I have migrated south to Florida. It was a hot and humid July afternoon. The first cluster of geese reached the grassy median strip just as I realized the red traffic light in front of me was about to switch to green. I held my breath in anticipation, wondering what would happen if the geese made it to the asphalt street just at the moment the drivers stepped on the gas.

Each webbed foot continued t march forward. The geese clearly expected the right of way.

But just before the first goose was about to step into the road, the light turned to green. There was a slight flutter of wings, but no injuries or fatalities. Like the other drivers, I accelerated and continued home.

Still I was curious to know the end of the story. What happened after the light turned to red again? Would the second cluster of geese make it to the grass strip before the traffic facing them moved forward? Did the geese find what they were looking for on that hot afternoon?

Watching the saga reminded me of how small and vulnerable I can feel against the larger world. Like the geese, I can slip into the assumption that nothing else around me is as important as where I am going. The questions that compel me are similar to the ones that come to my mind as I observed the geese crossing the road. How did something that seemed so simple turn out to be troublesome? Do the rewards still outnumber the risks?

On a larger scale, I wonder what might have happened if I had taken another path along my life journey? What would have been the consequences if I had made different choices? Where would that have led me? But when I stop brooding on my own silly goose questions, I simply pick up one foot and put it in front of the other.