Friday January 4th 2013
A dusting of Sandhill Cranes. I estimated
eighty or ninety of them. Almost too high to see, and they were
circling, round and round, beyond the reach of lenses, and way beyond
the reach of hunters. When they do that in January, when
there's still frost in the pockets all the way until noon, three
or four blankets on the bed at night and toes still tickling, the
Creeping Grass very fast asleep, and the air so chilled it has
frightened away the wind, a person begins to think them confused.
The calls they make, and which you can always hear before you can ever
see them, add to an idea of confusion in their ranks.
It's possible that everyday, around the
same time, this faint cloud of Sandhill Cranes has emerged, but the eye does
not look for them, cannot see them, unless they create a hullaballoo.
Yesterday I heard them from inside the domicile. I knew straight way
that I'd have to find the coat and more sensible foot wear. Outside
there was sun in blue sky. An entire hemisphere to search. And from
where they were, they could have probably seen a hundred miles into the
distance, maybe two hundred. The Tennessee border and on south to the
But I guess they didn't notice me pointing, because someone up there decided
to head north, and everyone appeared to follow him. Can't help but
wonder if they know something I don't. Either way, here on earth we
have to find Spinach seed.