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Strings of Lights
by Bob Skeele

Strings of lights.
With their white bodies illumined by the sun’s early morning rays,
on these first October days,
and only one small vee formation in the lot,
that’s what the snow geese looked like: strings of lights,
random strings of Christmas lights maybe,
some long, some short,
curled a little this way or that,
all the bulbs working,
high in the deep blue sky,
flying north,
to settle on just the right fir trees.
Or perhaps they’re not Christmas lights at all
but jeweled necklaces
in search of just the right goddesses’ graceful necks
to adorn,
a smarter move, really,
to keep the gods grateful and the flocks free
from divine scorn
for too soon night comes,
the lights go out,
and winter sets in.
But, then, so does memory,
another gift of the gods,
to bridge light’s loss,
with the hope of another bright October,
and other strings of lights,
to admire and think about.

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