Equinox and Wild Geese.

Today is the autumnal equinox in the northern hemisphere, and it’s been a good one this year in my neck of the woods – temperature in the high sixties, a modest breeze, and warm sunshine all day. Today’s activities included a stroll along Church Lane.

There’s a big patch of convulvulus on the verge in Church Lane. It’s considered one of the worst of pests in gardens, but out in the countryside its white, bell shaped flowers are a welcome feature of the autumn livery. It occurred to me that its bloom should be called ‘the Equinox Flower,’ and so, in the world of JJ, it shall henceforth be known.

And there’s a spread of elder nearby that is literally bending with the weight of berries – dozens of sprays of luscious, shiny black ones, all begging to be converted into a few litres of elderberry wine. I wonder that no one in the Shire has seen fit to collect them for that very purpose. The reason I don’t do it myself is because I have neither the expertise nor the equipment, so maybe nobody else does either. Some hobbits, eh?

But the best of equinoctial treats came my way at twilight. First I heard the calling, and then saw hundreds of geese formed up into several skeins, crossing the red sunset sky in silhouette. I’ve never seen so many in the seven years I’ve lived here. Being in silhouette is fundamental to the power of the image, of course; it’s what makes it so poignant, dramatic and romantic. I wonder why. Maybe because it symbolises transition – night for day, autumn for summer, geese for swallows. I saw no swallows or martins today.

What I didn’t understand was why they were flying north. Geese are supposed to fly down here from the Arctic Circle in the autumn, so why were they flying apparently in the wrong direction? Maybe they’d got lost, overshot the Solway Firth, and were doubling back. I didn’t think geese ever got lost, but maybe they do.