Tundra Swans, migrating to Canada, hundreds of theses graceful birds stopping by to rest outside of Fall Creek, Wisconsin. I stopped along Highway 12, a country byway that will get me from my farm to my office in Eau Claire. Afraid to frighten them, I stayed in my car....rolled down the window and watched. It was poetry...still snow around the "ponds" they had found in the farm fields, misty rain, gray skies...it was poetry. The kind of picture you know will be painted forevermore in your heart, the kind that brings tears to your eyes with the pure beauty. And I sat, letting the clock tick, letting the office wait, watching, reading the words of this unwritten poem over & over. I saw the swans. I was surprised that no one else stopped, only one other car slowed. They couldn't or wouldn't see. The clock pushed them forward, the rain blurred their vision. "Look", I wanted to say....look at what you are missing. The swans are here for but a day or two. I saw the swans and their poetry. They were hidden in the mist.