The Migration of Grey the Greylag Goose

Grey could tell by the drop of temperature that migration was near. He was currently waddling through the Parc Bordelais, looking for any crumbs of bread. Insects had already vanished and the usually delicious grass of the parc had died off. It had rained in the morning, and the heavy clouds in the sky indicated another shower soon. The trees who had been green just a couple months ago had already shed their leaves. All the children had gone back to school, and the animosity of the summer had truly been replaced by a dead silence.

The greylag goose stepped on a particularly crunchy leaf. He tried to eat it but it was just not comestible. Same for the marrons that scattered on the ground. Grey then explored the little woods that surrounded the park. He only encountered a couple of squirrels, busy preparing for the harsh winter that was to come.

Grey’s final hope for food was at the children’s playground. As he approached a gigantic slide, he spotted a little girl enveloped in a red coat, and what was probably her mother, staring at him. He noticed the child was holding a piece of dry bread. 

“May I have some?” Grey politely asked, perfectly aware that the human wouldn’t really understand him.

The girl looked at her mother, who nodded as encouragement. She extended her arm shyly.

“Thank you!” Grey cackled.

The girl panicked at the sudden quack and ran away screaming, the bread still in her hand.

Grey and the mother exchanged a look before she ran after her daughter.

“Humans are funny animals,” the goose thought out loud. He had been to Paris last year and had witnessed some scenes he would never forget. He hoped that he would return to the capital of France soon. The pigeons were quite amicable and the food was abundant even in early autumn. 

A cackling call interrupted Grey’s thoughts. The goose flew back to a large group of greylag geese, congregated around a bench.

“We shall migrate right now,” exclaimed an old goose as she climbed the bench. “I am starving and cold!”

The rest of the birds quacked in agreement. It was decided then, they were leaving for warm Italy, and in less than an hour, the Parc Bordelais was deserted.

The trip would only be two days long, according to Grey’s mental calculations. He was flying near the back of the formation, where the less annoying geese gathered. He let himself be carried by the wind, his wings barely moving. Floating. The best feeling in the world.

“Hey Grey!” called a goose behind him. “Do you know what I found this morning near a trash can?”

The goose exasperatedly shook his head, irritated that at his interrupted peace.

“A whole half of a pumpkin pie! It was exquisite…”

Grey wondered why the other had told him the story if he had not even bothered to bring some leftovers for him. He went back to his calculations. Perhaps it would take even less if his flock would be flying without taking any rests. Probably not happening, looking at how tired everyone looked.

Indeed, a couple of hours later, the flock landed in the countryside. It was even colder than in Bordeaux, but the more abundant vegetation would offer a decent meal. Grey even tried some chestnuts, although they ended up not really suiting his taste. 

“It’s not what it used to be,” mused the old goose.

Grey figured she was talking to him so he quaked in agreement.

“This summer was very hot and long,” the old goose continued. “The winter will be terrible. Something about climate change, I heard some say. Back in my days, I could…”

Grey could not help himself but zone out.

Soon enough, it was time to go again. Grey watched the landscape morph back into urban areas . They flew over the coast, some daring geese venturing above the sea. Grey was one of them. The oceanic breeze was refreshing and cleared his mind. The mountains of the Alps soon appeared. It would have been a pretty sight if it wasn’t for the dark clouds of pollution stuck in the valleys. 

The rest of the travel was quite uneventful. The wind carried them, along with some dried leaves. Grey silently cursed autumn. It was his least favorite season. Sure, the colored leaves were pretty, but they soon turned an unattractive brown and dirtied the streets. There was also this monotonous feeling. The humans’ offsprings would spend their days in some big buildings, the parks left empty. It was also pretty cold, perhaps not as cold as in the winter, but Grey had never experienced a real winter yet since he migrated. So yeah, all in all, Grey wished he could migrate before september.

“We’re almost there!” called someone in the front several hours later.

The winds had indeed grown considerably warmer. The clouds were almost non-existent, leaving the sun shining its rays on the ground below Grey. It almost felt like summer again. The goose guessed that they were now somewhere in the southern part of Italy. 

The leading goose dived in and the rest followed in a V formation. 

The geese landed in some sort of park, much nicer than the Parc Bordelais. Some humans were scattered on the green and alive grass, others were running around on fun-looking playgrounds, and others were feeding Italian bread to some ducks. Finally. Heaven. 

The geese were too tired to do anything but take a well deserved nap.

Grey woke up as the sun was setting. Or was it setting? He could barely see it, hidden behind some dark clouds. Clouds? When was that a thing in south Italy? 

Grey then noticed the wind. It was blowing hard enough that some of the geese had rolled away from the group, still sleeping. The park was otherwise empty. The humans had probably left when the weather changed. But this was definitely not normal. It felt like the Parc Bordelais all over again. The old goose’s words echoed in Grey’s head. Something about climate change, I heard some say. Could this place not be the perfect getaway from winter?

He looked over at his sleeping geesemates and sighed. It seemed like their migration was far from over.