Sandhill Crane Migration…
When they arrived
I heard the haunting
cries long before
I ever saw them in flight
When they arrived
a great joy flooded my
Body and I was
Lifted to the sky
Joining in the celebration
When they arrived
some would stay
for winter and
I was filled with a strange
Peace I could not define
When they arrived
So many slept nearby
rising up
from the field
a drop of blood
on their heads,
long graceful necks
black legs dangling
glorious
outstretched wings
lifting sturdy bodies
skyward startling
riffles and river waters
that kept them
safe from coyotes
at night
When they arrived
a Collective Call
and something else
I could not name
tore open my heart
When they arrived
with my life
Gone so strange
and cold
estranged
I had lost direction
Yet found kinship
among them
After they arrived
I was always listening
Each predawn
before
torturous winds
could steal
their cries
I walked into
‘first light’
arching my neck
backwards
to glimpse
a sacred flight
After they arrived
I loved
them with eyes
stung with tears
lacking understanding
but feeling
a holy force
of such monumental proportion
it severed all thought
My body sang
Only presence mattered
on and on the dance went
until one day
in early February
one crane
climbed into
the sky
overhead
circling
goodbye
and others followed
and all that month
year after year
they orchestrated this
communal Gathering
Once sky born
they fled north
the moment the sun
rose high enough
to warm them to
spring’s seduction
“Don’t go” a lost child cried
We loved them so
West wind rarely slept
and yet the cranes soared
on the thermals
to begin
their journey home
each year
bereft I was left
not knowing what
was lost
beyond the Sacred Voices
that haunted the sky
those mighty wings
my skin shrunk
tighter and tighter
against raw bone
I could barely stand
the empty blue dome
a moon that never slept.
Nine months before
the next encounter…
(Such a long journey south
for such brief respite)
I followed
them by map as
they headed north
east and west
Gathering for rest
Joyous encounters
as they met migrating kin
with each evening fly –down
sometimes they stayed to rest
for a time
before rising at dawn
to sail through the clouds
stormy weather
was always a threat
gunshots too
Some flights
took them as far as Siberia
to find
nesting areas securely
hidden in cattails
free from predation
Once rested and fed
maybe the two
who mated for life
could raise one
chick to adolescence
Last year only three
small groups
stayed
the season
was short
flooded out
by human stupidity
Yet they filled the sky
with their calls
as I walked into
gray, scarlet, bruised
purple, blue rose dawn
blessed by a Grace
that preceded sight
of the small community
united, brrrring overhead
I wondered then
who they really were
Next a source revealed
that these ancient ones
also soared far east
to reach the
northeastern tip
of the country
I come from
For twenty springs
small groups
touched down
danced and bred
increasing their numbers,
spent several months –
most of the year
in the lush green mountain
lowlands
almost no one knew
After they left last spring
I followed
Voices rose up
from the ground
to guide me
I listened for messages
beneath sound
Finding direction at last
I surrendered
to Sandhill Crane Migration
fearing nothing more
than not being able
to join them
in the North Country
that has been
persistently calling me Home
