Sandhill cranes are known for being steady, unadventurous birds that tend to go about their lives with a minimum of disruption. They make their migration to and fro and get it done with workman-like precision. They seem to be humorless creatures rather like one of those farming societies that believe work is the joy of life. They dress in gray because that is the least colorful color they can find and they cover their heads with a small cap of red, which signifies the heat of eternal damnation unless they fill their waking hours with productive endeavors. They form small groups of closely knit family members instead of the giant flocks of thousands as the gypsy-like Snow geese do. They are steady, capable, unimaginative birds. They are a plain bird.

But, and you knew there was a but, there is always one that thinks differently, wants more, needs excitement in his life, needs to capture that thing that is missing in his existence. He isn’t aware of what that thing might be he just feels it all the time, gnawing at his complacency, urging, no demanding, that he go and find that which is missing in his life. He ignores the pleas and gentle warnings that he is putting his standing with the family at risk. Even stern remonstrations do not sway him. He must live the way he feels,which in this case is away from the confining, stifling structure of his peers.

He is known by those who observe these things as a bird that does not keep regular hours. He is Icarus and must fly to the sun. He will try and try until he has no strength left, then he will try once more. I kind of like the guy.