I wrote my last post two months ago, but used some of the time to tot-up some future posts — and then the time got away from me.  You know the old saying: “Tempus Fugit.”

Before my eyes rests a photograph of two Sandhill cranes in a bucolic scene, remindful of nature at its best.  One  crane wades calmly in the shallow water of a lake, while  another crane swoops down for a soft landing: feet apart, beak open, and wings outstretched forwardly, simulating a hug in the making. A good subject for a poem.  What could I write about this scene?  

I will add some gender identity, assuming the wader is female, wading with food on her mind; and the flying crane is male, seeking a romantic encounter.  If cranes could talk, imagine with me the tenor of a one-way conversation.   

“Hello, Little Lady,
Mind if I wade along,
To possibly ignite
A spark of interest? 

What’s your name, my lady?
I’d like to call on you,
And wade webbed foot to foot
In a lake of beauty.

Please do not walk so fast,
Little lady, slow down.
Lets bide and talk awhile
About courting love’s whirl.

And if the urge excites,
We can bow, flap and dance 
The mating ritual 
To confirm our union.

We could be so happy,
You and me together,
Loving each other like
Bygone generations.

Please harken, dear lady.
Stop wading elsewhither.
Pause for a brief moment
To discuss life’s grand plan.

Oh well, no love today!
My prowl and stride
Unsuitable — for now.  
Love does not come easy.”