The weeks pass so quickly as fall blends into winter. The wind howls some days. The sun warm on other days. As seen in the last post the ice and storms of winter have come early. They don't last but serve as a reminder that this summer will end. As I watch the changes the serendipitous always occurs. This time it is large flocks of Sandhill Cranes. I wrote this after such a fortunate day.
The Day the Cranes Came
The golden glow of the afternoon sun
fell warm on my skin.
The frost of morning long since gone.
High overhead the ragged “V”
of cranes drifted.
Small groups sailed together
like grey flags connected by a string.
So many scattered across the sky
north, south, east, and west.
Where did they come from?
I watched them spiral ever onward
like the change of season
marked by calendar,frost,and wing.
Now nearer, just overhead-
each long neck stretched out as an arrow,
wings fletched these shafts,
feet nocked and launched.
What message did they carry?
A melancholy cry rose on the air.
Trumpeting their arrival-
one voice followed another chanting some ancient song,
all joined in intricate intervals.
The woven sound, loud,then soft, warbled,
and rang through the air.
"Winter is on the way"
as sure as the song of cranes.
Plover Lover – October 2009