Locals

Two Sandhill Cranes were killed near Wickham Road last night. They had two chicks, and it was a roaming nature that caused them to cross paths with the insect filled highways that levitate heat and attract anything drawn to heat. Odds are, they weren't killed crossing the road. Odds are, they were simply killed by someone who slid off the road a bit. Someone lost in the intrusion of daily life, and relentlessly enclosed by the aspect of small things and small people.

They don't get new mates, even though both are now dead. They find one for life and stick with it. Perhaps that is why they were killed simultaneously. The chicks did survive, however, found roaming the pastures of rural Brevard squawking loudly for birds that will never come. And one was rescued, ironically, and taken into care.

No one cares about anything. They were just loud birds with a family instinct born out of the same stardust we all are. Mashed and scarred into the roadway like a thick omelet. Respect is rare in the fight for life and land, its balance is always as precarious as the only ones that care about that balance. A powerful engine it is. And there are others, rest assured. Forget these things, they hold no name, and fight fleetingly. A thousand years ago it would have been a panther on their necks rather than a tire.

Sorry, I'd taken another month off, ye faithful readers. Mostly, I'd been up at Walden Pond skipping large flat stones. And I'll be back more often now. Now that the summer is soon to set its fangs in deeply and the tides have finally learned how to vibe with the pale grey moon.