I was lucky enough to see the night sky recently, with Jupiter holding its own beside an almost Full Moon. Good omens of abundance and new energies. Thus, a quick posting, after another silence (to be filled in or ignored because moving forward and not looking back are where I find myself now). I have reached a partial remission that probably won’t become complete but means my cancer is being controlled with the current treatments. Doctor hopes it could be years before disease progresses, at which time there will be other effective meds. I am thrilled and feeling so much better after a few hard years that coincided with graduate school and now I am ready and able to follow new paths first dreamed of then.
On Monday, 3/28, I will also be going up to Nebraska to stay with another sister for an indefinite period of time. I’ve been packing it all up and getting ready to flex some wandering muscles as I have a fondness for Nebraska’s landscape, old pioneer cemeteries at the edges of cornfields, small towns with quirky architecture, lots of rolling hills, and friendly people. Best of all, I just might make it up there in time to once again witness the great Sandhill Crane migration spectacle along the Platte River.
These prehistoric birds have been doing this, same place and same time of year, since the Ice Ages. They’re like flying dinosaurs with their harsh cries and peculiar way of landing with feet dropped down like a parachutist. They congregate in the waters of the very shallow Platte River at night for safety from nighttime predators. I saw them do this about 13 years ago. During the daytime they all spread out across the local landscape, foraging leftover corn kernels from harvested cornfields, storing up for the rest of their journey to the far north. The Platte River congregation is a pit stop of sorts. As dusk fell they all flew in to crowd together by the thousands in an adjacent cornfield. As soon as twilight dimmed them, they suddenly reappeared in the river, looking like blue shadows on stilts. It was all silence and invisibility in the darkness.
The other spectacular sightings I have yet to witness are being present at dawn when they all rise up at once, noisy and awesome with thousands of wingbeats, and the wildly exuberant mating dances between two cranes. It makes my heart happy to know they can still do this migration and that I have been lucky enough to witness it.
Last of all, I’ll insert a photo here of my gray plush head, taken a few days ago. Hair is growing in, still very grey and unwieldy (sort of like me, I guess). Recovery and spring are in my blood. Cancer will only be a footnote to my life for a long time to come, I hope. I’m ready to follow my nomadic spirit.
(All crane images retrieved from Google Images; credit Nebraska Radio Network)