Sandhill cranes. My sister, Karla, introduced me to them at the International Crane Foundation in Baraboo, WI some years ago. She has been photographing these elegant, circumpolar wild birds for many years. Although here in Minnesota we are on the edge of their migratory flyway, and I had seen flocks on the ground some years, I had never seen one on the wing until an afternoon I spent with my Book Group friends at Judy Dunlop’s house outside of Northfield a few years ago. That startling moment gave rise to the poem below.

Ode to An Afternoon Interlude
(for Judy)

 Yesterday, perched on a chair,
in a friend’s lofty house,
knitting a sock of maroon wool,
discussing knotty new fiction,
I dropped my knitting, half-rose to stare:
down through the wide, clean window.
Over tufts of straw-bleached grass
and a partly thawed pond,
the low, long, elegant swoop
of a lone sandhill crane
flowed to its conclusion
oblivious of utterance. Full
of its own light and syntax,
punctuated only by wing
and pinion, it appeared to be made
solely of cadence, of insight.

            Leslie Schultz

This year, I submitted the poem to the third annual Echoes and Shadows art and poetry collaboration created for our local senior center, FiftyNorth, by Michelle Brant, the organization’s gallery director and program coordinator. Each year, this event invites submissions of poetry (even years) and visual art (odd years). After selections are made from that year’s category, artists in the sister category are invited to respond in their own medium. This year, FiftyNorth is celebrating its own 50th birthday, and the theme for submitted work was celebration.

One of the best thing about local art events is being reminded of how many of one’s friends and neighbors hold such talents and are willing to share them. Another is meeting brand-new people who are also artists and from whom one can learn. A third is the thrill of being in such company with one’s own work–on the gallery walls and at the celebratory opening and reading. For me, this year, it was that very trifecta.

To give you a sense of the scope of the event, I want to share two pages of the magnificent program which provides a portable showcase of each of the twenty-eight pairs of art works in full color and includes artists’ statements.

Another deep pleasure in the 2026 event was that I was able to attend it with the person to whom my poem was dedicated. I have learned so much from Judy about literature and about the natural world. Together, we found the poem for her on the gallery wall, paired with an amazing photograph of a sandhill crane on the wing by someone I didn’t know, Libby Falk Jones.

I took this photograph of Libby’s art photograph, with her permission, so that you could get a better sense of its beauty and nuance. At the gallery reception, I took the photo below of Judy by her poem.

We then thought that we would try to get a selfie of both of us in that spot, and we turned to attempt it, when, in another delightful development, there was Libby Falk Jones! Libby introduced herself, and we learned that she is a poet AND a photographer, with a poem also in this line up, and a retired English professor from Berea College. Berea, Kentucky is a prime location for encountering sandhill cranes, and that is where she took her elegant image. Then, Libby kindly volunteered to take a snapshot for us. (To see more of her beautiful photographs and learn about her books and teaching, please click on the link above.)

Later, Judy and I had the pleasure of hearing Libby read her own poetry, as well as enjoying the great variety of work presented by others, including neighbors Susan Jaret McKinstry, Stella Chapek, D. E. Green, Becky Boling, Sharol Nau, and Heather Candels. The evening left me musing about the celebratory connections between nature, art, friendship, and community, and how lucky I feel to be part of a much wider whole.

Wishing you a splendid autumn, with friends and in solitary moments!

LESLIE