“Chicken!” Thalia teased.
“That’s not a chicken.” Calliope wrinkled her nose and squinted her eyes in confusion. “It’s a Sandhill Crane. You know that.”
“Paintist is the chicken,” replied Tal, “The Sandhill we saw this morning soared in circles above us and Henny at the dog park… I almost felt like it was trying to tell us something.”
“True, true… I could have attempted a soaring crane, but felt intimidated by its underside feather patterning. Thalia — I’m a tired chicken today… and yet together we’re here… with a not-too-shabby standing crane?” Typist raised her spotty brows at the muses.
“Well done,” said Nia, who then gave Typist’s shoulders a squeeze. “Persistence, perseverance, and pluck.”
A word from Typist:
Henny and I were alone in a back field of the dog park when a majestic crane flew over and circled us. I don’t know if it was a male or female. A quick search tells me the discerning visual factor is size — males are bigger.
When I got home, I looked up pencil drawings of Sandhill Cranes and from the results chose johnmuirlaws.com where there are tutorials on drawing birds, mammals, and plants.
Maybe you’ll give a chickadee, mouse, or cattail a try? All you need is a pencil and paper.
In God’s wildness lies the hope of the world — the great fresh unblighted, unredeemed wilderness. The galling harness of civilization drops off, and wounds heal ere we are aware.
I hope you can get outside for a walk today.