One winter there was an unmistakable thud of freezing rain. How charming. But the frigid rain ice got thick on the window seals until everything was a blur. The farmers turned back their trucks and put their livestock in sheds to keep them secure. But not the geese. Their eyes blinked wildly.
#
Some ranchers went ice skating down the perplexed roads with bats to gather geese that are perched inside the road ditches. The boys went out into the cold to catch geese too. They saw feathers along the fence. The geese were all fine. Three or four of them. The boys dragged their feet slowly, trying not to fall into the snow. They got close to the geese. The geese huddled close to each other. The boys saw how easy it was to get them.
#
The boys stayed constant in the chilly rain. You could see their breath come out in dense puffs of vapor. The geese’s breath came out in short white puffs. A few of them raised their heads and turned from right to left, but they were sightless with ice and didn’t glow. The boys didn’t bring bats, or bags, or anything but themselves. They withstood the geese, turning their heads periodically hoping that one of them would do something. To attack a goose or yell Strike! Things surrounding them were luminous and soaked with icy rain. The prickly fence. Even the grassroots. The grassroots looked like egg yolks inside gelatin. And the geese look like prospective birds polished in nucleus white. Ice caps were settling on the boy’s caps and jackets. They were going to be totally covered in ice soon.
#
Then one of the boys said, be quiet. He was taking off his jacket, with a thin layer of ice falling off of his arm. But the inner part of his jacket was dry. He covered the geese with his jacket. The other boys did the same. You could see hens and brown cocks walking in red and orange leaves in the nearby forest. How the boys felt the pressure of the rain in their shirts. They ran across the graze. Ice clinging to their skin as they made their way into the house.
The End
About Astrid Poplar (Cynthia Russell)
Cynthia Russell is a writer originally from Los Angeles, CA. She writes short stories, and poetry, and is in the process of writing a novel.
Leave a comment