The Journey Itself

  The air is chilly high up in the sky, and gusts of wind buffet me from different directions. My feathers keep me warm though, and I am expert at navigating any wind. I shape my wings and tilt my body every which way without thought, and the wind and I make promises to one another, promises that we keep with every slight change in direction. 

  I tilt my head, looking down at the foreign ground beneath me. The wind pounces at the motion, trying to force my entire body down to follow my gaze, but I adjust my wings and maintain elevation without effort. We make each better, the sky and I. For what would the sky be without birds to fill it? Empty, save for the clouds, and those are so formless and artless, they seem but slaves to the sky. And what would we birds be without the winds to challenge and direct us? Yes, the sky and I need one another. That is how art is made.

  Sometimes, however, the winds are more challenging than usual. It is the cycle of the world to change, change again, and change back into what it once was, before changing still again. This is the part of the cycle when we, the birds with any sense, fly. We are guided by our sense, by the winds, and by the call. The winds whisper when the cycle is changing, and the call tells us where to go. Warmer places and more bountiful food await at the end of our journey, and the birds fly as one, as a family. But I have lost my family. As swift as I am, guided by my keen senses as I am, and as perfect as my plumage is, I have still lost my family. The winds separated us in a fit of anger, blowing me away from the flock and nearly killing me by smashing my wings into the ground. They still ache from where I fell from the sky. That was two suns ago, and I still haven’t found my family again; I’ve passed many other flocks going the same way, but I am alone. 

  I beat my wings in a rhythm that is comforting and steady, keeping me high in the sky and speeding me along with as little effort as possible. It is still more difficult without my family to cut the winds ahead of me and disrupt the will of the wind. I do not think consciously of Grey Tip or Plump or Crack-Beak, or make any effort to remember their beautiful songs, but my heart misses them for me, and I cannot help but beat my wings a little faster than I should as my heart calls out for their company. 

  It is then, as I still peer at the ground far below, that I see something I cannot ignore. I see the earth, split in two and only sparsely dotted by trees on either side of a canyon; the ground is bare, and only a few bits of scrub and half-sleeping bushes cling to the rocky, shallow soil. As far as my eye can see, there is only that emptiness, save for the little changes in the skin of the earth that all landscapes have. A hill here, and a valley there. It is not a place of plenty and life. But that is not what catches my far-seeing eyes. 

  I see three human figures by the edge of the canyon where no other life lingers. My ears are keen, but not so keen as my eyes. I cannot hear their sounds above the tumbling voice of the wind, but I can see that they struggle with one another. This is curious to me, for I know it is the way of my kind and other fellow creatures to struggle with one another. But I had always thought that human-kind lived together - at least, that is what I have always seen when I fly over their sprawling nests and dens that sometimes take up an entire countryside. Do humans struggle as other creatures do? That would seem disastrous, for at least we creatures understand how to give space to others of our own and different kinds; humans live so close together that if they fought, they must always be in conflict with one of their kind or another. I do not understand what I see, and for a moment I am distracted from the loss of my family and the urgency I have felt to catch them again. Still, I dare not descend to inspect the strangeness below me - I must find my family before the winds separate us forever. 

  I can see far, and the humans are still a long way off. I watch them as I fly overhead, unable to help my curiosity. Our kind understands little of theirs, and their behavior seems strange to us. But we birds also understand that all things act according to their nature . . . even if we do not understand what that nature is. But somehow, be it the will of the wind or my own wings acting against my better judgement, my body tilts downward, the wind fills my aching wings, and I begin to slow just a little bit as I lose altitude, drawing closer to the scene below. 

  There are two males, I see, and one female. Humans are very different from birds, and it is usually the females who have beautiful plumage to attract a mate, the opposite of most birds. The female has long hair and bright cloth decorating her figure. One of the males struggles with the other male, and as I draw closer, I can hear the faint protests of the female - she is crying out in distress, I think. Is the attacking male trying to steal from their nest? I see none of the strange structures humans inhabit though, so it must not be that. So curious. 

  I drop down just a little further. I am not stopping - I cannot afford to stop lest the winds keep me from my family - but that’s not what I’m doing. I’m just passing by to see a curiosity. 

  The humans are so close to the edge of the canyon, and even though they are not my kin, I feel a concern for them - humans are not like us clever birds, and cannot fly, after all. 

  Just then, one of the males slips, losing his contest with the other male. He wails in a tone that any creature would recognize, a sound of terror and regret. My own breath seems to stop as I watch the man fall, fall, fall, down the side of the canyon. He waves his arms as though they were wings like mine, but they do him no good, and the wind’s challenge is too great for his heavy body. He hits the bottom of the canyon and lies still, a pool of shockingly red blood slowly forming beneath him. The woman screams and rushes to the side of the canyon, looking to see what is already plain from my vantage high above. She drops to her belly and claws out over the edge of the cliffside, wailing in the same tone her mate had, high and painful, as though she had shared in his fate. 

  My own wings cease beating, and I cut through the wind, falling, moving through the air yet still motionless all at once. I have seen many creatures injured by others, both by their own kind and by different species. But something about the desperation of the human woman, and the sounds that had come from her and her mate pierce my heart. I feel the female’s loss as though it were my own, and for just a moment, I forget about my own family as that woman’s pain reaches through the sky and enfolds me, too. 

  Then the other male, the one who had attacked the female’s mate and cast him over the canyon, strides forward and grasps the woman by her long hair, dragging her up. She screams, and it is not loss that I hear in her cry anymore, but great fear. The male grabs at her bright cloth coverings and rips at them, tearing bits off, and the woman’s cries become frantic. I do not understand the tongue of humans, so I do not know what they say to one another, but I can see that the man intends her great harm. 

  The wind rumbles, reminding me that I must attend to it or be thrown to the ground again. Thrown like the female’s mate, to never rise again. I beat my wings, not truly gaining any altitude like I knew I must to reach the best currents, but only staying on the same course I was on. My family. I must think of my flock and of finding them again. They must already be so far from me that it will be very difficult to find where they have gone. If I stray the course now, they may be lost to me forever.

   . . . Lost to me as that woman has lost her mate. Her cry still seems to echo through the air to me, though she struggles with the man and uses a different tone now. But the pain of her voice is not forgotten, and I decide then that I must change my course, even though it means I may never catch up with my flock. 

  I tuck my wings and drop through the air like a great hawk, and it feels as though the air parts before me, offering no resistance or challenge to my decision. I split the skies like a dart, and it takes me only seconds to leave the heights of the sky behind, rushing towards the scene on the ground. 

  The man continues to claw at the woman’s clothes, exposing bits of the skin beneath; he is oblivious to my small shape speeding toward their conflict. The woman does not stop screaming, and I admire the strength with which she fights back against a stronger predator. The two are locked together, heaving back and forth, and the woman jerks and yanks at the man’s embrace. She fails to break free, but the two of them are wandering ever closer to the edge of the canyon and the woman’s mate at the bottom. 

  I am only a short distance away now, still gaining speed and dropping like a ray of light from the breaking sun. The wind pushes me from behind, shouting its approval in the hissing, rushing language that only the birds speak. When I am a stone’s throw away, I spread my wings and gather all the air I can between them, slowing just enough to save myself from destruction. I shriek at the man with my full voice, warning the woman of my approach. Both startle in surprise, and in that moment the woman is able to break the grip of her attacker. She looks up with an expression of amazement on her face, while the man’s expression takes on a horrified look. I shriek again just before impact, then collide into the side of the man’s head. 

  The man throws up his hands in an effort to ward himself at the last moment, but it is not enough to save him. My impact stuns him, and he stumbles a step, then another, teetering on unsteady feet. The woman watches with wide eyes as the man finally takes one step too far and places a foot over empty air, the very place where he has no power. The air offers no support, and the man falls, plummeting beyond the edge of the canyon, tumbling to the very bottom, his body broken. 

  I drop to the ground, nearly as stunned as the man had been, dazed by my collision. Then the woman picks herself up and walks over to me. I am too dazed to hop or fly away, but I do not think that she would harm me in any case. I allow her to pick me, and for a moment, we look at one another. 

  “Thank you, little bird,” she says in a tone of whispers. I do not know what her words mean, but they are said gently, and she takes one finger and strokes the top of my head. There are tears in her eyes, but she lifts me slowly up until I am level with her face. My head is not so fuzzy now, and I feel the strength returning to my wings. I flap them once, twice, lifting myself to my feet. We peer at one another. I see great pain in her eyes, but also gratitude. I do not know how I can tell that about her, but somehow I do. We understand one another in that moment. Then I remember my family. 

  I shake myself and jump off her cupped hand, launching myself back into the sky. 

  I do not know if I will catch my family again, but the wind seems to approve of my actions. As I beat my wings and gain altitude, the winds lift me up, and a current I had not felt before pushes me onward, hopefully speeding me fast enough to finally find my flock. 

  As I leave the canyon and the woman behind, I feel her gaze watching me, and I know that although we both feel the loss of our family, for a moment we shared in an understanding of gratitude, despite our pains. I go onward.