Winter Passage

Temps drop, food disappears, and a voice within them says, "now is the time." The restless migrants finally take to the air on their winter passage. The reverberation of feathers beating the wind in unison with their fellow sojourners crack the cold silence of an early morning. Sun scatters gold on clouds still in deep sleep, still covering the stiff blades of long cut crops below. It's a season of loss, a season of adjusting, a season of moving toward hope.