The Pelican's Prized Page – Fall 2025

Tufted Puffin Sculpture at Coquille Point, Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge in Bandon, Oregon- photo by Robbyn Tolles

When the Geese Fly Over

By 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.

Juvenile Western Gull with Dead Fish on Bandon, OR Beach- by Robbyn Tolles

Changing of the Seasons 

By 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.