First snow, late cranes

Opening my eyes yesterday morning,
first snow had been falling.

Few hours later I heard them singing.

But why would they fly northwards?!

Cranes

 

Dmitri Hvorostovsky (16 October 1962 – 22 November 2017)

Cranes

Dmitri Hvorostovsky (16 October 1962 – 22 November 2017)

Singing Cranes

Leaving late?

Or returning early

First cranes leaving

While picking apples
I heard the first cranes singing
The starlings gathered

Even in January

Ich frag' mich,
was soll das bedeuten?

Migrants

Migrants without passports
violating the borders
of Schengen area.

Sieh da, sieh da!

This morning at nine
hundreds of cranes passed Seanhenge.
Winter's coming. Late.

Cranes Singing Farewell

. . . or rather:
Cranes over Seanhenge
discussing where to spend the night.

The Cranes are back

Ah, to hear them singing again . . .

Circling in the Thermal

On the way to their winter grounds . . .

. . . suddenly they began circling . . .

. . . not because they had got irritated by the sun . . .

. . . but going to reach higher regions.

Cranes are back

Winter is in the Air

"See there! See there, Timotheus,
Behold the cranes of Ibycus!"

15 minutes ago:
Those who in February were harbingers of spring,
while passing Seanhenge singing their "Farewell".

Spring is in the Air

First I 'only' heard their calls. Minutes later:

And suddenly the sky is dark'ning,
And o'er the theater away,
One sees, within a blackish swarming,
A host of cranes pass on its way.

And what a formation! Almost a perfect 'W' of around 150 metres width. Estimating their number as once being taught by an ornithologist, this will have been between 450 and 500 harbingers of spring. Amazing. Wonderful!

Unfortunately it was already too dark for taking photos. Thus my thoughts returned to Schiller.

Sieh da, sieh da, Timotheus,
die Kraniche des Ibikus.

However - sorry Friedrich - that ballad is a bit long for a post. (If you like, you will find it here, though - and in English.)

So I chose a poem which does not contain of cranes, but has been written by a crane.
Enjoy.

I met a seer.
He held in his hands
The book of wisdom.

"Sir", I addressed him,
"Let me read."
"Child", he began.

"Sir", I said,
"Think not that I am a child,
For already I know much
of that which you hold.
Aye, much."

He smiled.
Then he opened the book
And held it before me.

Strange that I should have grown so suddenly blind.

Stephen Crane (1871 - 1900)

The peace of the night.