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I always thought the '70's song by Peaches and Herb to be syrupy, sentimental slop.
But, it was the song to immediately leap to mind when at the Reservoir last night -- and it never left.
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I actually went to the Central Park Reservoir with some trepidation. I was more than a little fearful on what I might find.
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For nearly a week, I had been observing a solitary Canada goose completely alone and bereft at the mile and a quarter, famous watercourse.
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It was obvious that the goose (for whatever reason) had somehow become separated from her mate or family; most likely along the long migratory route that stretches from the far reaches of Canada to some point south in the US.
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At first, the goose was spotted along the north east part of the Reservoir, where new flocks of migratory geese typically land and briefly rest before taking off again. But, there were no other geese with her or anywhere on the Reservoir.
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Over the following evenings, she was spotted stoically staying on the divider that runs across the Reservoir from north to south. Each night, she was in the same exact spot, alone and never moving at all -- even when the rain pounded down upon her.
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She was either waiting for something, bracing herself for something or had "cast her fate to the wind" (literally) and was resigned to anything. Her body was slumped and her head tucked and bowed into her back each evening. Everything about the goose was an image of forlornness and abject longing.
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I became fearful that my lonely goose would simply die from the grief of loss and a broken heart.
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So, last night when I left to go to the Reservoir, I tried to brace myself for the worst. There was a good chance I would see my lonely goose's broken body, belly up near the edges of the water. Or, if I was "lucky," I might not see her at all. -- I could then try to imagine some happy ending of her magically flying off with a passing migratory flock of geese.
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But, neither of those scenarios was to occur.
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Walking along the north east path of the Reservoir, I peered out on the water and noticed what appeared to be my lonely goose slowly and leisurely swimming.
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"Thank goodness!" I thought with relief. "At least she is finally swimming -- and she appears a bit perkier!"
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But, then I noticed it was not one goose, but TWO!
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The two geese were bound so closely together, that from a distance they appeared as one.
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I immediately took out my camera to snap some photos. But, it was difficult to get any that actually showed two geese. I had to delete a bunch.
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Finally, after about 15 minutes, the two geese finally separated enough to capture both in photo under the lights of the city in the background.
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But, they remained exceptionally close during the half hour I watched them, making photography difficult and limiting. It was as if each was terrified of losing the other again and they were thus, nearly inseparable. (This is something a little unusual for goose pairs except during the mating season, which is obviously not now. Typically, mated pairs stay within a few feet of each other and sometimes one or the other will even wander a bit!)
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But, for those rare moments of parting enough to photograph, the bonded pair indeed created a beautiful image of peace, joy, contentment and (dare one say), celebration as they flowed gently and romantically across the water.
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"Reunited and it feels so good!"
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Yes, I could practically hear those two reunited lovers crooning that song!
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And I will never think the same about that old Peaches and Herb "sentimental slop" again. It might in fact, be the most romantic song ever on YouTube:
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My lonely, grieveing goose is lonely no more. She is very much alive and well with her soul mate once again cruising by her side.
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"Reunited and it Feels So Good!" -- PCA
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