March 12, 2011

Lost on the prairie, with cranes

He stood on the edge of the prairie,
By a river that stretched to the horizon.
The wind, the grass, and the
Water were enough to remind him of her.
He wanted to take her hand and
Watch the sun sink into the braided landscape.
But he was alone.

Cwrrr, cwrrrrr, cwrrrrrrr.”
Cranes called in the distance as they
Found him.
High in the sky,
The flock divided over his head,
Twisting, gliding, positioning,
To become one again.
Tornadoes of feathered chaos
Filling the air with redundant noise.
Now, waves of cranes,
Careening through the sky to
Replace voids
Left momentarily.
And rising again.
Uncertain and anxious,
But determined to
go somewhere.

God, he missed her.

The sun slipped below the prairie
To paint the clouds with shades
Of purple and orange.
And, like a band without a drum
Major, the cranes continued to parade
Back and forth
Across the dark sky.
Slowly organizing and losing
Their cries now comfort.
The beat of their wings matched
The pulse of his heart.

By the time the last bird had landed
Safely in the river,
He was surrounded.
Disorder had become order, and
He was no longer alone on the prairie.
He had found his way home.
He was with Her again,
Among the cranes.

L. Powell
Kearney, NE 11 March 2011

For D., and anyone else who has found themselves while listening to the cranes.

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