First Language: Sandhill Cranes

Here the water is different every moment.

It is a place with everything changing,

even the sounds.

Some call these birds the changers of language,

the tellers of stories.

I say they were here on the first day of sky creation

when one of our many gods said or thought,

Let there be infinite sky

and creatures with wings,

the red of setting sun

over a golden eye

as if to disguise what is seen.

And now at night all of the birds settle low in the dark water,

as if believing they are hidden away

for the night

they will be

tall ones standing now and then

noisy and singing,

talking, looking for a mate.

All night new ones arrive

from the four directions,

the horizon

as if coming up from the ground

and not down from the sky,

these the long neck of this planet

crying out. They are the ancient beginnings.

Here they come. Listen.

Coming near to us,

gathering,

standing close to us,

speaking out to us

all together,

this island of crane,

all one mind,

altogether

speaking

our first language.