I always look forward to the migration of the Sandhill Cranes each Spring and Fall. I have seen impossible numbers of birds in long twisting skeins etched across a grey sky almost out of eyesight. And I love to hear the mystical clattery notes of their calls drifting faintly down from great flocks of them, invisible in the night sky somewhere between me and the stars, moving on, always moving on.
This Fall people were telling about seeing and hearing them, but I hadn't seen or heard a peep. Then this past Wednesday evening I got home and started to open the back door when I heard the unmistakable call of Sandhills. They were close. Looking up I saw a flock coming in over the trees for a landing on the island behind our house. I ran inside, grabbed my camera, and got these shots before they finally took one last turn to the south and never came back.