the not entirely malevolent goose.
Warning: this post contains a cliche-y type beginning, rambling body, abrupt ending, and possible over-use of commas.
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Once upon a time, there was a girl. She was a bit different and definitely imperfect. But that’s what we loved about her. That and the general way she seemed to move about in the world. Like how a horse gets moving so fast they look like they’re not touching the ground, but it’s rather like slow motion all at once. You know the horse isn’t really flying. You know it would be illogical to think that, but your eyes see something quite otherwise.
Maybe a horse is a bad comparison. But it’s the closest I can think at the moment. I think if I had asked her what colour the sky was, she wouldn’t have been able to pin it down to one thing. She would have paused and looked smiling upwards as if she knew just what, out of all the millionbillion shades and hues, the sky was feeling. Depending on the day, she would answer. Other times she would probably just reflect the question back, “What colour are you seeing?”
I don’t remember her entirely. Tattered bits and pieces, mostly. I remember the day her world shattered. So fragile. I remember her picking up the pieces. So careful not to miss anything. I smile when I think of the way she crossed the street, completely oblivious to the vicious flow of traffic, yet always unharmed. I think she sometimes looked both ways, but those were probably the times it didn’t count. She laughed it off and ran on.
And, god, she asked so many questions. This went on and on into the night. Sometimes a good thing, sometimes bad. I know she would say mostly good. So many things were mostly good. She wouldn’t have it any other way. I’m starting to understand that now. The incredible beauty of it all.
I tried to climb a tree. The other day. At school. Well I fell and got up again and tried another time. Thud. As I was sitting there, I was looking out across the lake. The only lake I’ve ever come across that smelled like sea water. The oddest thing, really. As I was sitting, some geese-type things started waddling up toward me. One in particular was coming straight at me. It was staring at me with the horrendously intent stare that I’ve never encountered in anyone except, perhaps, the time my Chemistry professor accused me of plagiarism. I tried to break the stare of this goose and it refused to comply. I think this went on for minutes with no progress. So I started talking. Not about anything in particular. Mostly about the fact that I couldn’t climb the very easy looking tree I was now leaning against. Still staring. I mentioned the fact that even geese should know it’s highly impolite to stare for such a length of time. Still staring. I apologised for what I would do next and proceeded to ignore the goose tuning him out with an ear-drum shattering recording of O Fortuna.
“Sors immanis et inanis,
rota tu volubilis, status malus,
vana salus semper dissolubilis,
obumbrata et velata michi quoque niteris…”
And quite suddenly, the goose waddled back down to the lake.
I say all this and I don’t know where I had or where I am intending to go. Only that sometimes life is like that. Like a goose staring at us. And it really isn’t very helpful to say that we should sometimes tune life out while simultaneously destroying our sense of hearing. So just wait a minute.
Okay. How about this.
Sometimes life is like that person we can’t explain. Yet we try, using terrible metaphorsimile type things that really do no justice.
And sometimes life is like climbing a tree that looks easy to climb. Yet we fall and have to get up and try again and again, getting more determined succeed with each retry. We know the whole time that we need to either be a couple inches taller or on a nonexistant chair or in an atmosphere with less force of gravity.
And lastly, life could be like that goose. Staring for no apparent reason. Walking up randomly from a lake that smells like the ocean and eventually going back to the lake. Not so much offended at the sound of latin poetry set to music, but satisfied with the beautiful absurdity of the whole scene.
