Where on Earth

Behold, two rare Florida sandhill cranes in my front yard this morning on, of all days, Earth Day. They were hard not to notice what with their squawking back and forth to each other in a blaring duet that was anything but like that of the sweet tune the cartoon bluebirds whistled in Mary Poppins. No, it probably wasn't a song they were singing but more likely a mating call. I hesitated to let my young boys out front, in fear that might witness some national geographic moment, but made sure the scene was G rated before quietly giving them the go ahead. Little white egrets have nested on top of my car before, but being this close to these cranes was a first. Why our yard though, I don't know. There's no bird seed, and no garbage cans left out, and two curious cats glaring at them, ready to attack, from behind the window blinds. Even the tree out there is too immature to offer them any substantial vegetation or shade. Maybe they were just making their rounds in the neighborhood and figured a street named Tailfeather was as good enough a place as any to shake it.

As it stands now, there are only about 5000 of this subspecies that remain in Florida as their natural habitats, marshes and bogs, are being swallowed up by an ever expanding population of outsiders who think that paradise can be found here. Over 18 million people and counting crammed so tightly like the crowds that wait tirelessly in line at the state's crowning gem, Disney World. To accommodate the masses, houses are built so close that if you spread your arms out they nearly touch and kids play out in the street so as not to trample over the neighbors newly planted bushes and flowers. These two love birds were fooled too though as a much more suitable spot, a small pond enclosed by pine trees is just across the street a half a mile up the road. The sunlight must have blinded them.