He had been standing beside the Trans-Canada Highway for almost fifty
years; a silent observer to all around him. They now stood nearby at
the Wawa Tourist Information Center: she the ancient owl – an image
of wisdom; he the hopeful writer – creativity undeveloped. She was perched
on the picnic table; he stood beside her. Together, they gazed towards
him – the Wawa Goose monument.
“It’s time,” the old owl said softly.
“Yes, it is,” the writer agreed. “Shall I be the one to awaken him?”
“By all means,” she said, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.
He walked closer and spoke in a loud, clear voice.
“It’s time kid. Time to spread your wings and fly; time to travel, to
learn, to teach. It‘s time to change; to become something different
than you’ve been.”
There was an eerie silence as the writer stood there, looking up at
a thirty-foot steel goose. A massive full moon was rising into the night
sky, so brilliant and captivating. The faintest of breezes, sensed rather
than felt, was followed by an equally faint rustling of leaves. It was
as though an ancient presence was lending itself to the moment.
Ever so slowly, the Wawa Goose began to move, to come alive. It appeared
though, like two images blended together, as if one was being created
from the other‘s likeness. The Wawa Goose monument stood still and proud,
as always, but a cartoon version of the goose emerged and developed
as well. It stretched and rose up, with wings held high. Then, with
a flap of those mighty wings, it lifted off into the air.
WawaGoose was born.
This is the latest book in the WawaGoose series: