April 29, 2012 Sunday Whirl

Sunday Whirl

The Migration of The Cranes
The weather was grey all day
The sea the color of pewter
Your eyes no longer green
We watch overhead
The flocks of sand hill cranes
Return again this year
We could see their beating wings
They did not squander
Their precious energy
They seemed suspended above us

You are my fellow traveler

We make our way into the canyon

There is no lane to follow

It is but an alley into ancient grounds

Another time

Another people

Inhabited these lands

The sand hill cranes

Made their migration

Making no accommodation

As they slowly disappeared

Intractable only on their own terms