When I go out for my Thursday morning run I always have to pass this big cage with two geese. The cage is huge, and has two big wheels, so the owner can easily move the geese around. Unfortunately on Thursday mornings they are standing beside the bike path, and I don't think they like me.
Every Thursday as I'm nearing the cage I feel this prickling of anxiety about what they're gonna do this time. Because as I run by, they always open their beaks and hiss violently at me. And did you know geese have really long tongues? I do! Because their beaks open so wide hissing at me, I can actually see their tonsils. They really freak me out.
Don't they know I'm just an innocent runner, running about my own business? What's with the vicious hissing? Do they perhaps recognize me, from another lifetime? A lifetime that has me featured with a big chopping knife killing geese left and right?
But this Thursday something odd happened: they didn't hiss at me. All that greeted me was the silence of the geese.
Maybe they've gotten to know me, and decided I'm not that bad. After all, all I do is run past them. So even though the saying goes 'familiarity breeds contempt', it can also breed silence.
In a way the geese symbolize my attitude to running. I used to throw a hissy fit if someone suggested I go out for a run. How sporty did they think I was? If I ever felt like running, I quickly lay down until the urge had passed. Even now, that I've come to love running, when I start out my mind and body hiss violently.
But in the end, they, like the geese, fall silent.