Reading Omens

No neat V due south

                        but a scribble of scattered lines

     swishing across the blank grey sky,

           spots enigmatic as tea leaves.

Is autumn leaving?

Winter breathing

cold and close?

              The geese will not commit.



Then a long, silent pause;

               no passengers overhead.


              Waiting.

            Wondering.



The nothing is

punctuated loudly

by a lone pair of geese

            no hurry

                             no hurry

                                              no hurry

winter is

                  still

                                far

                                            away.