Migrations

In early May, thousands of sandhill cranes, oblivious to the lockdown that had been under way for about six weeks, flew over Edmonton en route to their northern breeding grounds. Their muted calls were reminiscent of waxwings, for which I scanned the nearby trees before realizing that the sound came from thousands of feet up in the air. As we joined our neighbours in the street to watch, the migratory Vs dissolved as the large birds paused their forward momentum to circle and drift in the thermal drafts. Far below them on the surface of the earth, we worried about illness and collapsing economies; to these birds, who have plied these skies for ten million years, the day no doubt felt quite different. Just seeing them and hearing their quivering cries was, for a few moments, liberating.

Given the isolation and anxiety caused by COVID‑19, birdwatching has gained popularity in recent months. So has reading poetry. Like birds, poetry is part of our habitat. We inhabit...