We sat in the warmth of our hot tub feeling the weather change; a soft mist had begun to fall; the air was warm. A front was moving in—or out. Low grey clouds hid them as they flew over. Sandhill Cranes. We live in the flyway and are granted the gift of hearing them as they go over even when they’re hidden in the mist. Their sound is unmistakable and difficult to describe as their calls to one another drift in from a great distance. Anticipation builds as they grow closer with a crescendo of sound; a sort of melodic raucous.
They sound like little dogs in the sky Kevin said. Yes, they do! As they flew over and continued their journey, their “barks” growing ever fainter, I imagined a long, wide “V” of little dogs, yipping at each others heels, running flat out across a wide grey sky full of rain on their way north.