Four dozen crooning calls echo across the icy lake.
Thin brushstrokes of Sandhill Cranes paint the pastel blue sky.
Rippling, the travelers follow surely in their leader’s wake.
Lovers for life, each gal gliding wing to wing with their guy.
How much further must you go until nicer weather greets you?
Do you imagine a warm sun where you will tan your tired wings?
Or, are you driven by a feeling you can’t help but cling to,
like the design of your V or the ‘croo’ that you sing?
You took the same path as last year, and again the year before.
A clockwork ticking rhythm as steadfast as the sun.
Your lover, your friends, your purpose; together you soar.
I am lucky if I get even one.
