They looked like peppercorns ground into the sky and then like ribbons of black silk or a stain spreading overhead.
Each spring, for close to a million years, hundreds of thousands of sandhill cranes converge on the Platte River Valley in central Nebraska.
“This viewing rivals any safari you would have in Africa,” said Sheila Berger, whose hat was festooned with a golden frond of grain.
Designed in New York City, fabricated in stainless steel in China and colored with pigments sometimes used in highly specialized car finishes, Ms. Berger’s meadowlark, which is nearly eight feet tall, was installed during last year’s crane migration.
Ms. Berger smiled. “What,” she asked, “is this meadowlark waiting for?” She smiled again. “This meadowlark is waiting for today! To wear its mask and to welcome not only the cranes, but you, too.”
Ms. Schultz, an old friend of Mr. Rips and Ms. Berger’s who has attended almost all of Ms. Berger’s public art installations, said she admired the artist’s commitment to turning small birds into monuments.
By 7:35 p.m., the sky, like the water, was a dark gray. A few dark cranes could be seen way up high. The strange, distant noises of coyotes could be heard echoing.
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