Ode to the Sandhill Cranes


As consistent as the rain has been these past days, so have been the calls and flight patterns of the cranes.  


Another day of rain and of cranes calling, circling and leaving.  A slight chill in the air that remains even as the sun rises over the mountains and lights upon our shoulders.  Summer is passing, as autumn sneaks in to the corners of our hearts.


Raindrops hit the tin rooftop, their song vibrating through to my office where I'm writing on the transition from summer to autumn and on my feelings around my quickly approaching departure date for New York.  My weekend is open ever so slight, just enough to let the breeze caress my shoulders as it passes out the door and in to the hall.  After three days of unusual and incredibly warm weather, it's rained almost relentlessly for the past four days, puddles gathering on the deck and the driveway, nourishing the rhubarb, daisy and strawberries plants still firmly rooted in Spankee's garden, despite the neighborhood rabbit's best efforts.

I've been listening to the calls of the Sandhill Cranes in the field behind the house.  They've  been circling all week, as they prepare to head to southern climates for the winter.  It's a blessing to hear their chants and to see their graceful maneuvers.  Soon, they will be gone, leaving behind empty, grassy fields, their songs echoes on the hearts of those of us who love them.

How can it be?  I recall April 21st, just over four months ago, when they arrived.  I'm not ready for this transition from summer to autumn to winter. 


I've been watching the Sandhill Cranes take flight and leave out over the Bay in large flocks for the past three hours.  The grassy, fields behind our house is the perfect training ground for the young.  As such, the past days have been filled with the calls and circling flights of these beautiful creatures.  To witness their flight is a blessing.  My heart aches, knowing they are leaving and will not return again until next April.  Their journey is a long one and as I bid them farewell, I pray for their safekeeping over the many miles they'll travel to reach the warm, sunny areas in the southern United States and points beyond.

There is such beauty and such sadness in witnessing their formations as they fly away, out over Kachemak Bay.  I am humbled by how full my heart is, to be a witness.  And I am reminded that my soul is stirred by nature's simply bounty.  I ache for more! 

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