Yesterday, a sand hill crane made it's way to my back door in Los Angeles. My first thought was, this crane is lost. This crane is on a journey and needs to rest, gather some strength, search for food. This crane is strong and lean. It keeps me in it's view, head in profile, making sure I am paying attention.

After spending the afternoon with it in my small backyard, the crane made it clear that it was not lost. The crane was here to remind me of the past. The wind itself was not enough to remind me of Kearney or Lincoln or Fremont or Grand Island or Hastings or Valentine or Brule...of the spring...of the way the sun would shine on the pin oak trees in May.