Low-angled sunlight had turned the leaves of birch and beech golden, but hauntingly so, the richness elegiac. The message seemed to be: enjoy this because it’s at an end. Except it felt preternaturally warm for this time of year, prompting a familiar discussion about different responses to the state of the natural world.
Just then we heard the melancholy honking of some Canada geese overhead, the birds concealed by the canopy of trees. I moved to where I could see them: two V-formations comprising perhaps three dozen birds heading north. They were low enough to see the slight inflexion of their necks as their shoulders strained at each wingbeat and close enough to hear each bird’s call, the females answering the lower-pitched males.
