I don't exactly enjoy watching the geese fall to the ground. I know they'll feed us for the winter and I'm very grateful for their sacrifice, but even so that's not the reason I go on the trips. Instead I hop onto that boat with a different intent. For we are taking a half hour journey to a small island that I find absolutely magical. The willow and water reed grasses grow differently there. They glow. And there are knooks and paths through the timber that spell out the secrets of the river's spring floods. It's something unexplainable, but the aura of that small nearly a square mile peice of land that just has a sense of wonder to it. And I find it fascinating. I could spend all day wondering the sandy ground, and often times do, getting completely lost in a small peice of land that holds just as much magic as the entire universe.
