At dawn, the cranes that slept along
the margins of the lake begin
to stretch their wings and murmur. Mist
ascends around our rowboat. Then
in sudden clamor they splash and rise,
trumpet across the sky to feast
on corn before their long trip south.
The sun lifts, silent, from the east.
And now the geese fly high above,
honking their way to join the cranes.
We rest upon the grace of water,
the taut uplift of gathered rain.