Upstairs, my office window is open. I'm waiting for the faraway calls of greater sandhill cranes, signaling their flight over Folsom from eastern Oregon, as they head to the Central Valley, where they'll winter in delta grasslands and marshes.
I'll rush outside the moment I hear them, knowing that even as I peer at the stark blue sky, it will take a few minutes to spot them. And then there they'll be, riding the thermals and singing their songs, and I will breathe again.
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