The negotiations between us and the geese continue.
We have provided cracked corn in tins. We have accepted that whatever the birds knock from the feeders will inevitably become part of the goose buffet. There seems to be a fairly well-established understanding around here that everyone is welcome to find something to eat.
Apparently, however, one of the geese decided the ground-level dining experience was no longer quite good enough.
Today I looked over to find a goose standing beneath the tree, neck stretched upward, happily eating directly from the platform feeder.
A high-top table.
The other geese stood nearby, seemingly unconcerned that one member of their group had discovered an entirely different level of dining. The food was there. The goose could reach it. And apparently that was enough information to determine that this was now also a goose feeder.
But then it stopped eating. It simply stood beside its newly discovered table, head up and perfectly still, watching.
I know this is normal goose behavior. They stand guard. They watch their surroundings. There was absolutely nothing unusual about what it was doing.
But I couldn’t stop watching it.
Which was particularly funny because Stanley was hunting in the puddle at the same time. Usually seeing one of the herons is enough to immediately pull my attention toward the water, especially when they’re actively fishing.
And Stanley wasn’t alone. Stella was tucked into the back near the female tree, hidden well enough that you had to know where to look for her. Stanley was watching the water. Stella was quietly present near the trees. The goose was standing guard over its newly discovered high-top table.
And I was sitting on the patio watching all of them.
Eventually, as usually happens around here, the moment ended without actually ending.
Stanley went back to whatever Stanley does when he leaves our little section of the puddle. Stella disappeared from where I could see her. The high-top goose eventually abandoned its post, and most of the geese wandered back toward their usual places.
Everyone returned to their regularly scheduled lives. Well, almost everyone. Harper apparently decided today was a good day to dog.
She isn’t barking at the remaining geese or chasing them along the fence. She’s simply making sure they understand that there is an appropriate distance between their space and hers.
Almost as though she’s saying: Close enough. I have my favorite antler and my blanket in here.
And honestly, I respect the boundary.
There is something wonderfully ordinary about how all of this unfolded. Nothing extraordinary happened today. A goose ate from the wrong feeder. Two herons spent some time around the puddle. Harper decided the geese had ventured close enough to her favorite place.
But for a little while, each of them held my attention. Maybe that is part of what I’ve learned from sitting here.
Not everything that captures our attention has to become important. Not everything we wonder about needs an answer. And not every moment needs to teach us something profound.
Sometimes curiosity is enough.
We can notice the goose standing beside the feeder and wonder what it is thinking, even though we’ll never know. We can notice Stella hidden in the trees because we’ve learned where to look. We can watch Stanley hunt even though we’ve watched him do it before.
And sometimes we can watch Harper quietly establish the boundaries of her little corner of the world.
Then eventually everyone goes back to being themselves.
Including us.
Waypoint: Curiosity
Sometimes paying attention isn’t about finding an answer. Sometimes it is simply about noticing what keeps asking us to look.
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