Loneliness

The girl hunting with her father approaches the strange man who has stopped at the end of his day to rest and look at the lake. Do you like geese? she asks. The man smiles. The girl draws a webbed foot from her pocket and places it in his hand. It's late fall and still the geese keep coming, two fingers spread against a caution-yellow sky. Before he can thank her, the girl has run off, down to the edge of the water. The man studies her father, about to bring down his third goose today—then ponders the foot: soft, pink, and covered with dirt like the little girl's hand. He slips it into his coat pocket, and holds it there.