The last week of December has some of the shortest days of the year. It is the time of the year when darkness falls all of a sudden, as if the sun, after a day of shining with all its might, desperately but futilely trying to warm a frigid world, reaches the horizon, strains valiantly to stay up a little longer, but collapses in exhaustion down below. Darkness prevails in no time, and with it, the cold intensifies its grip.
Driving home late this afternoon, I saw at the same time three different flocks of geese flying overhead. They were each veering in different directions, somewhat haphazardly and randomly. I don’t know enough about geese. I know that they always fly in groups, always in V-formation. There is always a leader who has two different contrails streaming behind him. Why aren’t these contrails, or kite tails, ever the same length? Why is it that only the lead goose can start the V? Couldn’t any other goose randomly have two streams behind him, so that the flock wouldn’t resemble a V, but many V’s within the one V? But that never happens.
Why do the geese honk? Do they always honk while flying, or do they ever have quiet time? Where are they all going? Why now? I went outdoors very late a few nights ago, when the temperature was near zero. It was so very quiet, nothing like a noisy summer evening, as if the cold was muffling all the sounds, or maybe the snow had blanketed and soundproofed the entire outdoors. Suddenly, the stillness was broken by a flock of geese flying overhead, honking madly, flapping their wings frantically. They were going somewhere in a hurry, maybe, or perhaps just flying around trying to warm up?
There are so many things I don’t know, but I do know that the heavens declare the glory of God. The geese give glory to God. Their formations, their honking all give glory to God. The cold speaks of the majesty of God, gives glory to God. And in noticing all of this, in living on this beautiful planet He has created, I too give glory to God.