The sandhill cranes are flying over our houses, heading south.
On these cold, clear, late-fall days, their presence is unmistakable. They fly high in the sky and it’s sometimes hard to see the V-shaped flocks of birds that have chosen our towns for the route of their autumn migration.
But you’ll always hear them.
Smaller groups — maybe a half dozen cranes — produce a squawking racket that can be heard for more than . . .
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