Nearly three weeks ago, while visiting Ridgefield, Washington, I slept with the Sandhill Cranes. Nestled in my bedroll, out in the field beneath the stars, I felt the chill rising out of the ground just before dawn.
And then--- they began.
A lovely morning song rose from all over the area. As the purple drape of sky faded to lavender hinting gold, group after group waved their way above me. A glimpse of Sky and Earth merged, with me sandwiched in-between.
Field Game ~
A splayed prone cross on the stubbled field
arms are finger tip stretched recalling flight
I imitate the mewing bands of flop-legged
Sandhill Cranes who've just arrived in this
Washington field of dropped corn
swooped down from the far north
my heart beat and heat surge
beyond the reach of this gentle Chinook
wind in western attire
we whisper and laugh up the dawn
