I enjoy reading the poems sent to my inbox every day, good to read, to wake me up with some wonderful words. And once in a while there is a strong connection, which happened this past week. We in Denver are in one of the flyways of the migrating sandhill cranes, and a long time ago, whooping cranes. Sandhill cranes are the most prolific cranes, while whooping cranes have made a comeback according to the International Crane Association from 21 to about 599.
Years ago my class participated in a crane count in the southwest area of our state. We wrote curriculum for school children and were literally in the field every morning, counting, counting, and observing behavior. One morning we sat quietly behind corn stalks, watching behaviors. At that time, among the numerous sandhill cranes, there were two "odd" ones, a little taller, whiter, with a brighter red head, a whooping crane! I was hooked, and have followed their plight, and comeback, since that experience.
|Greater Sandhill Cranes|
This week, The Writer's Almanac posted a poem that speaks of cranes, and more, by William Stafford. Some of you may have seen it, but here it is again, along with a few photos.
Watching Sandhill Cranes
Spirits among us have departed--friends,
relatives, neighbors; we can't find them.
If we search and call, the sky merely waits.
Then some day here come the cranes
planing in from cloud or mist--sharp,
lonely spears, awkwardly graceful.
the rest is here.
photo credit: greenheron47 via photopin cc