[Editors’ Note: Learn about how the “Nine Poets Speak” series came to be in place here.]
Photo: Cranes in the Fog by Sara Wright
When I see them
I enter the Dreaming.
In the background
a jagged coat of barren
reptilian mountains
frames bountiful bodies
standing on stilts as
undulating necks,
crimson crowns
beaded eyes
dive below the surface
in search of last year’s grain.
Each deliberate step is taken
in syncopated rhythm
with those of nearby neighbors
Each three toed talon
pierces still waters.
Ruffling six foot wings
clasped close to form,
serpentine ropes dip and sway.
Cranes leap into thin air
when encountering old friends.
Parachute back down.
Relaxing into the calm mirror –
each one casts a silvery shadow
trilling, rattling, rolling, whirring,
brurrring with excitement
when greeting relatives.
Circling around before
making their descent,
cranes bounce off the field
as they land!
Always in communion
echo makers converse
with others in nearby ponds
in the hushed chamber
of the lowlands-
a Bosque of Cottonwoods, lakes,
and reeds –
Cranes are always listening.
No wonder one can trust them.
As twilight deepens,
they fall soundly asleep,
thin billed domes
nestled deep in warm flesh,
scaly feet sunk under oozing mud.
They dream an ancient language
tapping into fields
of primal patterning
Indigenous knowledge
Earth’s current keening.
Cranes know that
only by attending will they survive.
During the night,
One bird stands sentry…
Next month
they will begin
the great migration
a bi -annual flight made
year after year for millennia.
Cranes return to the same locations
thousands of miles traversed when
‘North Country’ calls them home.
Upon arrival, the birds
paint their plumage brown
blending into last year’s
wetlands to escape detection.
Mothers hover over two eggs
sinking onto nests
braided out of reeds.
A most attentive Protector
scans horizon and sky.
Nearby.
One chick might
survive to make the return journey…
But for now
these sentient Beings
celebrate community
by the thousands,
feeding in harmony…
The tranquil ponds echo
with a symphony of sound so
compelling, so enchanting
that I am swept
into the Heart of Creation,
folded into feathery down,
cupped by Primeval Wings
fringed ashen cloaks –
immersed in Natural Grace.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Sara Wright – Return to Mago E*Magazine
This poem is so beautiful. It transported me visually and emotionally to a time when I was bird watching myself. I have only seen cranes once in my life in NM from a distance. This description is precious information for me, since I have not spent much time with cranes. Nature is so precious.