Assuming cars have neither haste nor
destinations, the congregation
of assembled geese meanders, one
plodding pigeon-toed web-foot after
the next, across the intersection.
The intersection holds its noon hour
rush of breath and cancels plans for quick-
stop errands on the way. As slow as
methodical drips from a shower
head, the geese feet march to a different
beat. Grass sprigs and wild onion tufts in
sun bright lawns are their calculus of
time and destination. Noon follows
suit while the intersection unclogs.