Crane

Summary

A lone crane's graceful landing and solitary presence in a Pacific city's shallows is observed and contemplated by the author, who draws parallels with his own life as a hermit.

Abstract

The author describes the elegant descent of a crane, likening it to a glider, as it approaches the earth with outstretched wings. This solitary bird, which the author identifies as a regular visitor to the same location during summer, is seen as a kindred spirit, mirroring the author's own solitude. The crane's careful movements and unassuming demeanor suggest it is unaware of its beauty, as it goes about its routine, possibly unchanged from day to day. The author marvels at the crane's potential journey from distant lands and wonders about its life, while acknowledging his own limited understanding of the bird's existence. The crane is described as stately and beautiful, oblivious to the author's observant gaze.

Opinions

The author perceives the crane as a symbol of beauty and grace, akin to a glider making a precise landing.
The crane's solitary nature resonates with the author, who also considers himself a hermit.
The author admires the crane's elegance and the careful, deliberate way it moves, suggesting a reverence for life and the environment.
There is a sense of wonder about the crane's origins and personal history, with the author speculating about its migratory patterns and relationships.
The author feels a connection with the crane, yet recognizes the bird's complete unawareness of being observed, highlighting the solitude of both the bird and the observer.

What a Beautiful Landing

Image by Author

Like a glider circling A crane comes in for a landing

He’s a lovely sight. Spiraling closer and closer to the earth, and then, wings outstretched — though moving a little, adjusting angles and altitude — his spidery legs and tentative feet reach for the planet.

I’ve seen this lonely bird before. This solitary crane, a hermit just like me, making my Pacific city his summer home. He was here last year, and the year before that, this time of year, and at the same place, too — the shallows (at low tide) just south of the big, small-mountain-like boulder that sprouts one single (wind-blown) tree as a disproportionately small hat.

And arriving he just stands there. Now looking around (for who knows what). Then he pecks at something with his arrow-like beak and hose-like neck — small, dark head joining the two.

Does he know how beautiful he is? I don’t think so, for when he now moves, he moves gingerly, not struttingly.

Step after careful step, as if unwilling to wake sleeping fishes (food).

I wonder what temporary homes he left in order to arrive here? To the south or north? To the east? Not the west, surely, unless we’re talking about Japan. Did he leave someone behind? Significant other? Or is he an all-round lonesome flier?

How do his days glide past? Is one different from the next, or is he, like the fabled gold-fish amazed at each new landing, each new wave, each new seal-bark?

I know nothing about this; but I know the he is stately, beautiful, and utterly unaware of my gaze.

Crane

What a Beautiful Landing

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