A Wild Coven of Sleeping Marsh Cranes

Odd moment this morning, following the same path as always, same streets— the sun not yet risen, shadows left a blue winter tone, a cerulean hue across the lawns and gateways of the subdivisions. I passed by a public park which contained a small human-built pond with a faux-island in the center, usually over-crowded with mallards and drakes, one or two Egyptian geese for variety— but today, within this brief span of seconds, the miniature circle of land contained a wild coven of sleeping marsh cranes, thirteen luminous shapes glowing out against a severe blueness of the hour. They all hunched over with their heads drawn in, bundles of feather and quill, as if arranged, facing in various degrees along the compass points. No means of recording the visual image, only through words, awkward phrasing, dangerously sentimental. Because I was running behind schedule I could not turn around to take a quick photo with the phone— the day swallowed up the scene—

•09/ Some moments refuse to be catalogued for later use—
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