Saturday dawned fresh and cool, the world washed clean and clear by overnight storms. Crows brought life to the morning skies and filled the air with their calls.
There was no sign of sandhill cranes on the road, but I kept hearing them and looking up, expecting to see them flying over the orchard. They were in the neighborhood. But where? Plenty to see on the ground, anyway.
. . .
And then -- my foot dislodged a rock that demanded to be rinsed off and inspected more closely --
Another reminder that not all Petoskey stones are found on the beach. After all, our whole neighborhood was underwater long ago.
But there were those cranes calling again. Where were they? Not in the orchard, not in the corn.
At last, farther than I had thought, at the far side of a field bordering Jelinek Road --