Article September 23, 2013 Issue

On wings of prayer

Laura Remmerde

When I was a teenager in a rice farming community in California, one of my favorite activities was walking in the rain on cloudy, windswept days. Our town was on a regular flight path for migrating geese. I loved watching them sweep over the town in a V-shaped pattern. I loved to hear them calling out to each other. Somehow, the sight and sound of them was the epitome of freedom to me. High above me, they plied the heavens with their wings in full, strong motions, at home in the sky. I even wrote a poem about them, which ends:

I, too, am a bird
Free-winging o’er the distant town
below—
And the gray sky is my kingdom.

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