On the first of November, I encountered on the slope of a gentle hill at nightfall, a small sedge of Blue Cranes—there were at least thirteen or fifteen in the assembly. I recited to them a poem about one of their kind I completed some time ago, “A Crane at Eventide”—I think it was well-received. I include two of the hasty photographs I took, eager to revel in the encounter without distraction.
Forgotten Fields 