Platte River

It may have been the light
Along their wings
As they moved by thousands
In their grand flight
Above the river and the fields.

It may have been the wind
That let them soar so far
But then held them in their turns
Toward the northern hills.

It may have been the clouds
That blended with their feathered gray
As they settled to the fields
On this sharp and gusty April day.

But whatever elements formed the
Graces of their measured flight,
I knew I would never catch them in
A net of words as thin as these and
It might take the wisdom of the ages
To determine why
There is such perfection in their
Bond with earth and sky. **

** On the migration of the sand-hill
cranes between North Plate and Grand
Island, Nebraska, April 09, 1989