The other evening, I walked home in the dark. Snow was falling gently, and the lights winking from windows were a reminder that I am not alone. 

 

I heard a flock of what I assume was Canada geese overhead, though I could not see them. It seemed astonishing that they were navigating through the dense clouds, and the chill, winging as an arrow's point. It was January, so too late for migrating south and too early to be headed north. Not that I am well-informed about the flight patterns of geese. 

 

I marveled at their unity. Whatever the elements were like at three thousand feet, they faced them in solidarity. Presumably, there was none of the commentary that usually surfaced when I traveled with a pack of hungry, cold kids. Someone told me that the honking is about encouraging one another, especially the bird at the tip, who carries the brunt of the wind. 

 

It occurred to me that I can honk. Not in the way geese do, but  giving timely affirmations to friends around me who are sometimes flying blind. I held this resolve in my pocket, next to the extra pair of gloves, fully intending to implement it the next day. 

 

Then before I went up to bed, I opened an email. There was a quick message of encouragement for the event next month, from someone who knows what it is like to feel lost. How about that. It turns out that I am not alone either.