[birdky] Fwd: FW: Wonderful bird story (fwd)

[SSWEEN6400@xxxxxxx]

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I just rec this story from a friend in the Marshall math dept..   I so hope 
it is true.  What do you think????

Steve Sweeney
Boyd Co.



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Date: Wed, 24 Mar 2004 10:22:15 -0500
From: "Silver, Judith" <silver@xxxxxxxxxxxx>
Subject: FW: Wonderful bird story (fwd)
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Steve & Sharon<

Do you think this tale is true?

-- Judy

*************************************
Judith A. Silver, Associate Chair
Department of Mathematics
Marshall University
One John Marshall Drive
Huntington WV 25755-2560
304-696-3044
*************************************

-----Original Message-----
From: gmgantz@xxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:gmgantz@xxxxxxxxxxx] 
Sent: Tuesday, March 23, 2004 11:10 PM
To: Silver, Judith
Subject: Wonderful bird story (fwd)

Thought you might appreciate this story.  Have a good week.  MG
----------------------  Forwarded Message:  ---------------------
From:    Olperky33@xxxxxxx
To:      Waltbird2@xxxxxxx, magpie8402@xxxxxxxxx, Esther856@xxxxxx,
Gaucha33@xxxxxxx
Subject: Wonderful bird story
Date:    Sun, 21 Mar 2004 22:07:37 EST



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I got this story today from Ruth Haller who lives in Florida.  Thought you'd 
enjoy it too.
             Marilyn


Where we live, on the Eastern shore of Maryland, the gentle waters run
in and out like fingers slimming at the tips. They curl into the smaller
creeks and coves like tender palms.
The Canada geese know this place, as do the white swans and the ducks
who ride an inch above the waves of Chesapeake Bay as they skim their
way into harbor. In the autumn, by the thousands, they come home for the
winter. The swans move toward the shores in a stately glide, their tall
heads proud and unafraid. They lower their long necks deep into the
water, where their strong beaks dig through the river bottoms for food.
And there is, between the arrogant swans and the prolific geese, an
indifference, almost a disdain.
Once or twice each year, snow and sleet move into the area. When this
happens, if the river is at its narrowest, or the creek shallow, there
is a freeze which hardens the water to ice.
It was on such a morning, near Osford, Maryland, that a friend of mine
set the breakfast table beside the huge window, which overlooked the
Tred Avon River. Across the river, beyond the dock, the snow laced the
rim of the shore in white. For a moment she stood quietly, looking at
what the night's storm had painted.
Suddenly she leaned forward and peered close to the frosted window. "It
really is," she cried out loud, "there is a goose out there." She
reached to the bookcase and pulled out a pair of binoculars. Into their
sights came the figure of a large Canada goose, very still, its wings
folded tight to its sides, its feet frozen to the ice.
Then from the dark skies, she saw a line of swans. They moved in their
own singular formation, graceful, intrepid, and free. They crossed from
the west of the broad creek high above the house, moving steadily to the
east.
As my friend watched, the leader swung to the right, then the white
string of birds became a white circle. It floated from the top of the
sky downward. At last, as easy as feathers coming to earth, the circle
landed on the ice. My friend was on her feet now, with one unbelieving
hand against her mouth. As the swans surrounded the frozen goose, she
feared what life he still had might be pecked out by those great swan
bills.
Instead, amazingly instead, those bills began to work on the ice. The
long necks were lifted and curved down, again and again, it went on for
a long time. At last, the goose was rimmed by a narrow margin of ice
instead of the entire creek. The swans rose again, following the leader,
and hovered in that circle, awaiting the results of their labors.
The goose's head lifted. Its body pulled. Then the goose was free and
standing on the ice. He was moving his big webbed feet slowly. And the
swans stood in the air watching. Then, as if he had cried, "I cannot
fly," four of the swans came down around him. Their powerful beaks
scraped the goose's wings from top to bottom, scuttled under its wings
and rode up its body, chipping off and melting the ice held in the
feathers. Slowly, as if testing, the goose spread its wings as far as
they would go, brought them together, accordion- like, and spread again.
When at last the wings reached their fullest, the four swans took off
and joined the hovering group. They resumed their eastward journey, in
perfect formation, to their secret destination.
Behind them, rising with incredible speed and joy, the goose moved into
the sky. He followed them, flapping double time, until he caught up,
until he joined the last end of the line, like a small child at the end
of a crack- the-whip of older boys.
My friend watched them until they disappeared over the tips of the
farthest trees. Only then, in the dusk, which was suddenly deep, did she
realize that tears were running down her cheeks and had been for how
long she didn't know.
This is a true story. It happened. I do not try to interpret it. I just
think of it in the bad moments, and from it comes only one hopeful
question: "If so for birds, why not for man?
~ The Author is Charlotte Edwards ~

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[birdky] Fwd: FW: Wonderful bird story (fwd)