The Pelican's Prized Page-- Fall 2025

When the Geese Fly Over
Sami Elfiqhi 
​
They never said it outright,
but I always knew.
Home by sunset,
Home when the geese flew.

It was never streetlights for me,
since we lived too far out. 
Where dusk comes soft,
Only a flicker, never a shout. 

I’d be out in the field, 
bike laid down in the grass.
Watching the clouds burst into orange
until I’d hear them pass.

The first low honks 
would spread across the sky. 
Then their wings appear; 
a bold formation as the fly.

Lines like stitches sewing up the season.
The parents in front, little ones lots of flaps. 
Learning how to leave
Learning how to come back. 

I never counted the days to fall,
there was no need. 
The geese always knew first
so to them I concede. 

Then I’d stand, brushing seeds off my jeans 
and start pedaling towards the porch light
before it even flickered on,
the geese leading me home through the night.

Changing of the Seasons 
Sami Elfiqhi 
​
The wind is different now,
a little colder and a bit older.
It shares the things it’s seen
slipping through the thinning trees,
shaking out secrets in rust and gold.

Above it all, a young hawk circles
Alone in the sky.
His wings still hold the hues of summer,
his tail faint and barred
Not yet the flame he will carry.

He doesn't know he’s changing, only that 
the air feels heavier,
the sky closer,
the trees below whispering in a language 
he is just beginning to understand.

The aspens redden without apology.
The oaks drop what they no longer need.
No one mourns the loss of green,
instead embracing the beautiful biology. 

And so the hawk shifts, too. 
Not all at once, but 
feather by feather. 
Until one day,
he is red
and does not remember ever being otherwise.