After six years (nearly) of living here, I have my trash down to a once-every six-month dump run. Between compost, recycling and burning what I can, it feels good to get my trash to fit into my small bed Ford Ranger pick up, haul it off myself, save many dollars. And then, I get to reward myself with a trip to Monte Vista. The Alco store there is better than WalMart, which I do not shop, and way better than the Family Dollar in my town. On the way over I cross the Bird Refuge. As get closer the sound of Sand Hill Cranes over ride the radio jazz (thanks Susan). I stopped. A murmuration of Cranes was in the air. At least four groups with maybe 100 per flock, wheeling silver, black and white against the sincere sky. The noise was amazing. I thought, how does one live in this place with that noise this time of year? It is so overwhelming. And then, I realized, I live here too, amidst those birds, the calling, the need to migrate, to murmur, to join and co-join, to visit briefly on that journey, the map well known by all, but never recorded. And home now, as evening approaches, I turn the radio down--the redundant crappy news--and tune into the birds
Posted on: Fri, 28 Mar 2014 23:05:03 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015