~Sophia Landon Geier
The geese, like the seasons, are confused.
They dance the dance of butterflies
back and forth through Indian summer -
of sunrise and sunset, chasing light.
They, and Oakley Hall... They get it -
they grieve the loss of beauty and artistry,
and countless nameless things, but without knowing:
they are the art and motion of change
that defines the beauty that becomes of loss.