Posted by: atowhee | March 18, 2017


Here is a poem formed by my friend, Kirk Gooding, using some of the words from my recent crane blog from a recent trip to Sauvie Island:

Sauvie Island

A leak in the clouds lets sunlight spill across the land.  
Geese cackle and honk, a pair of Osprey whistle 
from their nest, and Wigeons and Mallards contribute 
squeak and quack to the cacophony. Yet over it all 
High above spreads the bugling of Sandhill Cranes.  
Their calls make the air vibrate, hinting of primitive compulsions 
carried across time from ages when long-gone species ran 
and swam in seas and prairies that are gone as well. 
The sounds of the crane reverberate through their 
elongated and convoluted trachea that can only have 
evolved to produce such music. Humans can only listen 
and marvel that such sounds pre-date cave art, villages, 
stone tools and even digital recordings. This sound 
both ancient and inimitable belie a hope that they 
can out-live the damage we humans commit. Whatever 
sentient creatures are about in some future time they

will be sure to halt and listen when those yet-to-be cranes bugle.”


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