just the other side of a smooth-wire fence is a farmer’s field,
its stubble side-lit in sunlight softened by thin, filtering clouds.
geese are flocking to breakfast, gathering in a corner of the field.
closer to the center stalk sandhill cranes, walking their tentative walk,
as though there may be something in the field no crane
would care to step in. their knees are on backwards.
a flight of three cranes circles the field in a lazy, graceful figure-eight.
a standing crane calls, its cry the clacking loudness of a party favor amplified.
the three cranes coast and flap their ways to landing. they eat a while,
stalking the field with the other cranes. hot-air balloons drift slowly by overhead.
with a sudden whooshing flutter the cranes ascend and swim the air.
calls of other cranes come from nearby woods. the geese send up
a parliament of honks. the burners of the passing balloons sigh great sighs.
the cranes head south. the geese will follow.
(Copyright 2023 by Tetman Callis.)