A pack of fifteen geese flew over the mainland and then out to sea. They were migrating to a warmer place. As they flew over the sea, they looked down; the sea was rough with choppy waves. The geese spotted a ship, a skipjack. It looked as though the three-man crew were catching oysters. The ship sat low in the water, obviously full of oysters.
Suddenly a strong gust of wind blew, and the geese had to adjust a few feathers. Strong gusts of wind, choppy waves—the geese were no fools, a storm was coming, a big storm at that. The geese squawked, “A huge storm is coming, we better fly faster.” The skipjack started to rock back and forth. The geese heard a human shout, but they couldn’t hear what he said over the wind. Suddenly another human joined the one at the wheel. The third human, the one at the oyster thongs, pulled up the thongs. The wind was blowing stronger now. The human who had just pulled up the net let the sail out.
The geese were forced on despite their curiosity. The lead goose squawked, “Move closer; it is going to get very cold very fast.” The geese moved closer, so instead of a V they were in two straight lines. The brave geese flew on through the flashes of lightning, and the boom of thunder, through the insistent pelting of the rain, and the gusts of the wind. The geese were wet, tired, hungry, and annoyed. Why did the weather have to be terrible on their flight over the murky, green waters of the sea? Finally, the head goose squawked, “Almost there; I see land.” The geese breathed a sigh of relief. Finally they would get a chance to dry and preen their wet feathers. They would get a chance to sleep during the migration.