WhoopingCrane_OdetoWhoopers_Doughty_Robin_AustinTX_10April2002_Reel2176.wav

Robin Doughty [00:00:03] The first poem is from the book "The Whooping Crane," it's called "Aransas Norther".

Robin Doughty [00:00:11] October rain is sharp glass, blasted in tumult. Gulls scrabble sands. Terns hunker. Tormented songbirds rack. The shout that all whirling things start up. Wind whips leaves, zings wires. Palms lash the air needing legs. This sky hurls, breathes cranes, whose guttural chevrons will sound the change to winter time.

Robin Doughty [00:00:44] This was I remember in October when I was in one of those Northers come to, through Port Aransas and it rained for three days and afterwards the cranes had started to come into the refuge. They'd used this Norther to to to migrate South and come into the winter quarters. And the final one is actually looking at cranes as they walk, as they're sort of walking about. It's called "Cranes on Point Pasture Road," which is down the Blackjack Peninsula on the refuge.

Robin Doughty [00:01:27] They prance, as two-year olds heading for the gallops. The joy of smooth footfall. No Oxeyes, Spartina. Live oak brush endless; hawk lifts deliberate steps to find food. And high adults who punish territorial transgressions. They skeeter almost as do yearlings, all legs unhitched to anything, ready to race, gambol, above all to dance with blood-curdling calls, white whirls, wings drooping, greeting right, mating right, season. Only to troop back to rank vegetation.

Robin Doughty [00:02:10] Thank you.