The catastrophe of a black-fronted goose

On the east coast of my home state of Maryland, the gentle water flows like slender fingers, in and out, twisting, and finally flowing into the bay like a gentle palm.

Black-fronted geese know this place, as do the white swans and wild ducks in the trapeze harbor on the cusp of the Chesapeake Bay. In the fall, they nest here by the hundreds to escape the harsh winter.

The swans flew towards the shore in a noble manner - head and neck high, arrogant and fearless. They plunged their long necks deep into the water; they searched for food at the bottom of their holes with their hard beaks. The arrogant swans showed a coldness, or almost contempt, for the multitude of black-fronted geese.

Snow and winter rain visit this place many times a year. If catching rain and snow occurs in the narrowest part of the river, or it is shallow at the time, the river will freeze.

The story happened on such a snowy morning. Near the town of Oxford, Maryland, a friend of mine was laying out breakfast utensils by a huge window. Through the window, she was just able to look down on the Turwin River, looking over the pier and seeing the entire river silvered by snow. For a moment, she stood quietly by the window, looking at the picture painted by the overnight blizzard.

Suddenly, she leaned forward and peered out close to the frosted window. She couldn't help but exclaim, "It's true, there's a black-fronted goose there." She went to the bookcase and took out a pair of binoculars. In the lens, she saw a huge black-fronted goose, motionless, its wings tightly folded at its sides, its claws frozen in the ice.

At this time, a group of swans flew over from the dim sky. They moved in their own unique formation, graceful, fearless, and at ease. They crossed the wide river in the west, swept the sky high above the houses, and flew steadily eastward.

My friend watched the group of swans. The lead goose turned to the right, and then a group of white birds gradually turned into a white circle. The white circle fell from the sky and finally landed on the ice like a feather fell lightly to the ground. My friend couldn't help but stand up and put his hand over his mouth in surprise. It turned out that the swans had surrounded the frozen black-fronted goose, and my friend was worried that the endangered black-fronted goose would become riddled with holes under the swan's beak.

Surprisingly, however, the beaks pecked on the ice. The long necks were sometimes raised, sometimes bent, again and again. After a long time, the ice that had frozen the black-fronted geese turned into a small lump of ice. The swans then rose up again with the lead geese, hovering in the air, waiting to see the fruits of their labor.

The black-fronted goose raised its head, stretched its body hard, and finally broke free from the freezing and stood on the ice. The black-fronted goose slowly moved its big claws, and the swans hovering in the air watched its every move. At this time, the black-fronted goose seemed to cry: "I can't fly!" So, four swans flew to its side, rubbing its wings up and down with its long hard beak, its body, and pecked off the ice in its feathers.

The geese stretched their wings vigorously. When the wings were finally fully spread, the four swans returned to their team. The team of swans then continued their eastward journey in perfect formation to their mysterious destination.

Behind them, the rescued black-fronted goose flew into the sky with unbelievable speed. It followed the swan, doubling its wings, and finally caught up with them and became the last point on that graceful line.

My friend's eyes followed the birds until they disappeared behind the treetops in the distance. Only then did she realize that she was in tears. This is a true story, and I don't want to interpret it here. I just think of it often in difficult situations and say to myself: "Birds are like this, how much more people?"