They arrived silently, swiftly during the night and stood present by morning. They flocked the fields, parking lots, and manmade suburban ponds. They were big. All at least three and a half feet tall, the size of an average kindergartener. Threatening.

So many. No one suspected it would be them. Their peaceful stature, impressing the image of grace and elegance in citizens’ minds year after year, migration after migration.

No one suspected their teeth would grow; their eyes would turn crimson; their tempers would ascend. No one suspected that of all the potential apocalypse catalysts—it would be the geese.


Corinne Silver is an author of young and new adult fiction, fantasy, and poetry. To find more of her writing, follow her on Instagram @scripturientsilver.

Photo Credit: David Davies

2 Responses to “Canadensis”

  1. Thomas Finnegan says:

    Very good, Corinne; our experience of them well depicted. I once stuck to the sidewalk, alongside a pond, instead of taking the time (my arrogance, my rights–my wrong) to go well around, and it meant I walked, albeit slowly and respectfully as I saw it, through a strolling flock. They did not receive me well. I’ll never forget the hissing. Don’t do that anymore. Thank you!

    • Wow! Yes, they inspired me because they often stop by the pond directly behind my abode to nest every year. You wouldn’t believe the violence! And the adolescents look like tiny raptors! Luckily, I did make friends with one that comes by from time to time. His name is Gary and he likes rice.

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