They left in the autumn of the year, a great army of legend. Flags flashed rusty red and steel grey, barred and banded. Old veterans did heed the call once again, their ranks, as with all armies, swollen with so many young. By battalions they paraded across the countryside and coastline, leaving summer behind to seek their fortunes elsewhere.
Their passage was witnessed by countless numbers at Cape May or Hawk Mountain. The thrill of the parade tempered only by thoughts of how many might never return. Then they were gone. Yes... some stayed behind; a rear guard to watch the homefront. Others, Northern Warriors, on their own epic passage, filled the void left by the other's passing. Even with these, the world seemed barren, without magic or myth.
Through the long winter how often our thoughts have drifted to how the warriors are fairing. Have they found solace in lands more plentiful? Were their enemies too strong? How many will return well or battle-scarred or not at all?
Now the first breaths of spring stir the air. Though the land still sleeps, the promise is heard in whispers... changes so subtle as to go unnoticed. The distant regiments hear those whispers. It is time once again to reclaim their birthright, their territory, their home.
Those who would witness their return climb to the mountaintops (or find a local spot close to home!) and wonder at the adventures they have known. Look to the skies and cheer the battalions on their return. Look to the skies... the hawks are returning!
The Sandy Hook Migration Watch started March 15th! Red-shoulders are moving - I've even seen a few! There'll be Broad-wings! Come! Bring cookies for the counter!
a return Visit
10 months ago