The snow from last week’s storm still covered the ground. It had had been falling from the trees all week, but some still clung to branches in the cold temperatures. It was a Sunday in December, and I was on my way to the gym. The thick foggy atmosphere surrounded me, limiting visibility. The Kennebec River was completely blanketed by the fog. Nothing beyond the rail trail could be seen over the water. On my way back from the gym I felt the pull of the outdoors and set off to explore the mysteries held by the fog.

Making my way down a familiar path, I was captivated by the thick mist wrapping itself around me. Autumn leaves still clung to the trees like the snow and decorated my path along the way.

Enveloped by the fog, I pressed on, the snow crunching under my boots. I wasn’t the first one to walk these paths. The ground was trampled with a variety of boot prints and dog prints.

It was high tide, and one of the spots I planned on visiting was not reachable. The river came right up to the tree line. At low tide I would have been able to climb down the tree roots and walk along the beach. But not this time. So I continued down the path, realizing that I would head to the end of the trail to see if my ducks were gathered. My anticipation heightened with every step, and I embraced the stillness of nature in the cold winter.

As I walked on, memories creeped into my mind. I remembered why I had been avoiding this place. My family came here to walk the dogs together. I spent many weekends with my father and the littles. This was one of the especially long walks for the littles, if we made it to the end of the trail and back. My dad would run with the dogs and would look for ducks and geese with me, always so excited to point them out if he saw them first.

I finally was unable to hold back the tears, knowing my father would never walk these trails with me again. When suddenly I realized what lay ahead of me at the river’s edge. Six geese were resting in the water so close to me, framed by the surrounding branches. I froze, knowing the sentinel was alerted to my presence. If I moved too fast, they would drift away.

Geese are my mom’s favorite bird. She loves hearing them honking and watching their V-shaped flight patterns. My dad knows how much she loves them. On more than one occasion this year when we have been missing him, we’ve heard the geese. Once my mom thought she heard a knock at the door, but when she opened it, there was no one there. No one except the geese honking as they flew over the house. Earlier in the year something similar happened to me when I was missing him. I stepped out of the car and a pair of geese flew overhead honking. Sometimes I can’t feel him at all, but sometimes it feels like he is right here with me.

As I stood watching the geese, I became even more aware of my surroundings. Ripples pulsed through the water as melting snow from the tree branches splashed into the river. I breathed in the cool air and enjoyed the peaceful, tranquility of this moment I shared with these geese.

I slowly moved slightly closer. They allowed me to approach, but remained on high alert. The occasional honk indicated when I moved too fast. Looking down I saw geese prints patterned the snow. They weren’t just passing through, this was one of their spots.

Eventually, I knew our time was coming to a close. A man with his dog was thrashing down the path making quite a bit of noise. The geese became more alert as they heard them approaching, and several warning honks filled the air as they started drifting away from me, back into the fog.

The spell broken, I went on to the end of the path to see if I might stumble across my ducks. The small stream was frozen over, and no ducks were visible. I heard the gentle honking in the river and looked through the branches to see the geese floating along the edge further back in the fog. They continued to move further and further away.

As they disappeared into the mist, I realized how cold I had become. My breath filled the air and my face felt like ice. My hands were getting difficult to move from the cold. It was time to go home.

The next day I realized the geese weren’t the only ones that would disappear into the void. I had to say goodbye to the little yorkie I loved so much. Her health had been deteriorating, and unfortunately, like my dad, she wasn’t bouncing back like she had so many times before. Every time things seem like maybe they’re going to be alright, another tragedy hits. The sense of loss has been so profound and unending. Navigating grief is challenging, compounded by seemingly endless misfortunes. The path forward often feels uncertain and elusive like the dense fog, concealing and revealing in dance of infinite mystery.