Good Times
The Sandhill Cranes were flying yesterday. Their distinctive clucking call fell from the sky, but I could never locate the flock as it flew by. They were too high and moving too fast. I looked, hard, but the sky was empty of clouds and there was no focal point for contrast, just the clear blue sky and their calls, which could have been coming from anywhere.
It reminded me once again of the flock that used to winter in the open fields just down from our house south of Alvin. I’d see them in the mornings as I drove by on my way to work and again in the evening as I returned home. Those were good days. We had a place on six acres that was close by, and I always wished that one day they’d find our little field and set up camp. But the only thing we grew was grass to be eaten by our neighbor’s cattle, so I had to drive down the road to see the big birds I favored.
These days I’m simply a spot on the flyway and no one is looking down for a place to land. That’s okay, we get smaller migratory birds, and I may put up my feeder for a few weeks just to see who stops by. If it stays up for too long, however, the sparrows find it, which is roughly akin to having a crowd of local teenagers hang out at your house all day, knocking food around and messing up the place. But I guess when you’re hungry for company and reminders of the old days, you can’t be picky. So, putting up that feeder feels like the right and lively thing to do. I’ll let you know how it goes.