There must be sixty of them, he thought. He had never seen this formation. He had never seen geese behave like this. Not that he was a hunter. Not that he really understood nature, but he knew a bit of this and that. And of this he was certain: geese did not sit in bison circles.

He eased his mower toward the circle. Not one of the geese moved. Not one goose let loose a honk. Not one of them lifted its head from under its wing. Billy didn’t understand it. He was confused. He felt like he was in a bad dream where everything falls in slow motion. He touched his left pocket to make sure he had his cellphone. How was he going to explain what he’d seen when he called his wife?

Here he was, a decorated soldier, a man who had served his country, who had sat through raids and had had spitfire artillery splashing all around him. And now here he sat frozen, a couple yards away from a flock of geese sitting in a circle and acting as passive as Gandhi. He didn’t know what to do. Play Duck-Duck-Goose with them?

He started to whistle “London Bridge Is Falling Down.” Not one goose lifted its head. He started to sing “Oh When the Saints Come Marching In” and not one goose lifted its head. Billy decided to stand on his machine and flap his arms, calling out to them in a language he was sure they understood.

“Honk. Honk!” Not one goose lifted its head.

Finally, he jumped off his machine and decided to take a run at them. He put his head down and dug his right foot into the thick Kentucky blue grass and pushed his body forward with his head wrapped inside his tattooed forearms.

“AAARRRRGGGHHH!” he growled, and when he looked up, he saw the geese taking a few steps. They were cluttering his daybreak. He stood in awe as all sixty of them swelled into the beautiful first light canvas of red and soft blue. He felt a tear slip from one eye and sighed.

What a beautiful sight. What a gorgeous start to his day. If he were a religious man, he would have called it a blessing.

His body turned in a slow semi-circle, following the pattern of the wings taking flight. All he could think to do was to applaud the symphony of geese that filled the sunrise. His hands pounded against one another and reached high over his head. A singular standing O. He was in a state of amazement.

Amazed at the beauty of life. Amazed at nature. Amazed and grateful for being alive. He shook his head and uttered a quiet thank you to the sky, smacked his wide palm against his lips and blew a kiss heavenwards. He turned back toward his machine and that was when he saw it. A lump.