In which the cranes awaken me
This morning I slept later than I originally intended to because, hey, I felt as if I needed the extra sleep.
And I was jolted awake by what I believed to be the cry of a flying crane or Canada goose. That was enough to levitate me out of bed, into my robe, and out the front door for a look.
Didn’t see anything unusual that time. I changed into my clothes to put Emma out back. As I did I heard a distinct trill, confirming that I wasn’t imagining what I’d heard, and that I’d heard cranes.
Both the wild geese and the cranes have a special emotional resonance for me. The sounds of their migrating formations in flight serves for me as sign and symbol of the changing of seasons. There is that about them which I find both haunting and untamed.
When I first moved into my house (on Jupiter) over 21 years ago it was the geese that overflew the house, autumn and spring. Then to my sorrow their flight path shifted and I didn’t hear or see them anymore. From my house, that is: they’re certainly abundant throughout my usual North Valley haunts. I just didn’t get the special thrill of being awakened by them any more.
Then a few years ago the cranes started coming over. Even better.
This time I didn’t see them either. I did see crows flying pretty high; I associate them with the coming of winter, just over a month off. But I was certain I had heard the cranes flying.
Originally I’d intended to take Emma Dog to the Vineyard, just ’cause we haven’t been there much in too long. I decided now to go to Bear’s Ditch, which is closer to the river - runs right along the east edge of the Rio Grande Nature Center. It’s a good place to see migrating cranes, which tend to follow the river.
So this afternoon, when I needed a break to think about something in my new Rogue Angel yarn (my title for it is Skinwalker; we’ll see what comes out), I took the Em out to the ditch. And sure enough, just moments after getting out of the car, I heard the cry and then the trill. They’re both very distinctive, very penetrating. Which makes sense; they’re how the birds formate on each other in flight, I presume. They need to carry.
When I got to a spot along the south fence of the RGNC preserve where no trees obscured my view I saw them: a vee of maybe a dozen to the north, high up and circling. I got my Simmons on them enough to confirm, yep, they were cranes. They were far enough that even in the glass I couldn’t make out anything beyond that. Indeed, when I looked again with my unaided eye they’d vanished against the blue sky.
ut it’s always good to see them. And hear them, of course.