For the past several years the pair of geese have come. When I travel south on Route 295, I see the adults’ long necks and bodies amidst the grasses. I search to see the goslings’ heads. Sometimes I can’t see them, but can detect their wake in the movement of the grass as they trail along behind their parents. As they grow, I delight in watching their little heads bob up and down as they hurry along.

This year I’d seen only one solitary goose, standing sentinel in the grass, looking away from the busy traffic toward the marsh. Where was his mate?  Was he watching out, protecting her? Or was he awaiting her arrival? Do partnered geese travel together when they migrate, or do they just meet up to mate and raise their young? Had something happened to her?

I worried for the goose this year. He looked so lonely silhouetted against the bleak marsh. Of course, I really didn’t know if it was the male or the female, but for some reason, I was convinced it was the male. I detoured from my regular route to check in on him from time to time, and found him always still alone. I expressed my concern to my husband, who looked at me as if I’d lost my mind.

Then last week, I drove that way again, and there were two of them. Two adult geese, standing side by side in the grass down the slope from the busy road. Had she been there all along, but hidden on a nest? Were there any babies about? I detected no movement in the grass around them, but my heart lifted that the one goose was no longer alone–or perhaps never had been.

I think I’ll drive that way this morning again. Just to check in.