28/50 - What if cranes ...
What could it mean, if the cranes don’t fly home this year? What if these high mountain meadows never hear again the odd croaking of our beautiful, large, long-legged birds? What if they don’t stalk the reedy, peaceful shallows of the clattering river, spearing small fish with their beaks like lightning-quick warriors? Will the real warriors, those cruel, ugly men with grimacing faces, descend upon us instead of the gentle cranes? Will the people of the mountain be forced to take up defensive arms and embrace the black stain of violence? Through tears I search the cloudless skies for wings.
4 comments:
Wonderful post, Wren. Written so powerfully. I hope your cranes don't disappear.
Are you talking about *real* cranes? I was thinking this was a metaphor for something... Who are the cruel, ugly men? (Just curious...)
BTW, I may have a post about paper cranes sometime... you reminded me of a story.
Thank you, BG!
Patrick: While we are graced with flocks of Sandhill cranes flying over in the springtime here, and white egrets live in the lowland deltas, the cranes in my 100 words were inspired by a small Chinese glass bottle I keep on my desk. The inside of the bottle is painted with a delicate, yet intricate scene of cranes wading at the forested base of a mountain waterfall. The little bottle is beautiful, it was getting late and I was casting about, trying to think of something to write. Suddenly, I was writing about cranes, and the peace metaphor came along with them. I imagined being part of a mountain people who depended on the cranes, literally, for peace. The cruel, ugly men I mentioned are the soldiers of all times, places and countries who attack and destroy the civilian populace of their enemies. As an American in these times, I've been very lucky never to have to face such a terror. My contemporaries in Iraq are not so lucky. For them, I wish for cranes.
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