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©David Lewis Photography
Late Light from Coronado NM
When we finally hung up, not finished but conceding to time, the light shone golden, transfixing the coppery leafed canopy of the cottonwoods along the bosque to flame and edging the willows along the river bank towards red. The river flowed smoothly, placidly; and thin and dark. The near foothills of the Sandias were tricked out to all their complexity by light and shadow. Crows in loose, gangly flocks drifted south, just above the bosque, strangely quiet, for crows. And sure enough as I was concentrating on a picture, I heard this chortling. It took a few seconds to penetrate my awareness and then it dawned on me: sandhill cranes…SANDHILL CRANES. I immediately jerked my head up and looked around. There they were, a large, lopsided ‘v’ floating over, their gray bellies lit golden white by the low sun, chortling away, probably discussing what they wanted for supper, where they were going to stay for the night. I was beside myself. They always bring me into a very special place as I realize I’m listening to their wild cries along the Rio Grande the same as people have for hundreds of years. They say the cranes have been following this pathway for thousands of years.
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