Thousands of Miles from Home

The leaves have begun to paint the treetops like wildfire. A chill lingers in the air a little bit longer each morning. The days are getting shorter. I need to go.

It's time for me to move on. It's not just the changing of the seasons or the scarcity of food, though. I can feel something calling me. Some instinct, some overwhelming urge is pulling me toward a place I've never been. I need to go.

As I sit in the bright morning sunshine, I stretch out the vivid blue feathers of my wings, the long forked feathers of my tail. Then, I preen and get ready to leave. A few feathers are bent and others have holes in them, but that doesn't matter right now. They'll still carry me onward. With one last look around at the place that has always been my home, I sing out a song of farewell. A gentle breeze ruffles the grass and fallen leaves around me; my home is wishing me a safe journey.

Finally, it's time to take wing. My emotions battle within me as I rise into the air. There's a sense of loss -- of sadness -- at leaving the only place I've ever called home. Will I ever see this place again? Will my destination ever truly feel like home? But on the other wing, I can feel the growing excitement -- the sense of adventure -- at the unknown journey that lies ahead. How far will my trip take me? What new sights will I see?

With each flap of my wings, I rise higher into the clear blue sky. I feel the pull of the chilly wind, the push of the warm updrafts of air. The trees and structures shrink below me until they're part of some distant world I no longer belong to.

I keep going up until I join the others. The flock welcomes me into their midst. I soar with them, enjoying the feeling of warm rays of sunshine on my back. The tiny, distant black specks of our shadows race along the ground below.

We travel for miles over ever-changing landscapes. As the sun lowers toward the horizon, so does the flock. Humans gather at the outskirts of the field, pointing and chattering to one another. Some of them hold pairs of reflective circles against their eyes as they look at us. Others hold small rectangles that emit flashes of light. We can't understand what they're doing. But they seem happy and harmless enough, so we just ignore them as we land in the open pasture.

At last, the sun disappears behind the edge of the world. It's finally time for rest.

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Our journey started weeks ago. We've flown over rivers and deserts, forests and cities, hills and valleys. The world is larger and more breathtaking than I ever could have imagined.

The way the lakes sparkle under the golden sun fills me with peace. The way clouds move through the sky, ripe and ready to bring life to the dry earth below fills me with hope. The way the animals below move through the scenery fills me with comfort. Even wearied as I am, I'm glad I've had a chance to see so much of this beautiful world.

Nevertheless, my muscles ache and my belly growls incessantly. The few insect swarms we've found have helped keep us going, but it's not quite enough. Some from the flock have landed, never to fly again.

Throughout the day, the hunger and fatigue pull at me. Try as I might, I can't move my wings fast enough to keep up with the group. I lag behind. The flock keeps flying, unfazed, until it becomes a dark silhouette in the sky in front of me.

My heart is already hammering hard in my chest when I hear it: the screech of a falcon echoes through the air around me. My chest tightens and my breathing becomes ragged. I hear its wings flapping behind me as it cries out again.

I can't outfly the falcon. Instead, I dive. Wings folded, I plummet toward the earth. The wind rushes past my face. In a matter of seconds, I reach the treetops. I unfold my wings. He's close behind. As the air catches me, I turn to fly parallel to the ground, just below the canopy of branches. I zigzag between trunks; the falcon does the same. Left and right and left again.

At last, I see my chance. I shoot up, between the branches. I weave in and out, up and down, left and right. Finally, I see a spot of foliage too dense for the falcon to get through. I fly through. A second later, I hear the snapping of twigs as the falcon's wings catch on them. With a shower of leaves, he falls heavily to the ground.

I need to go before he recovers. Adrenaline pumping now, I have the strength to go on. I fly faster than ever in the hopes of catching up to the flock.

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The flock soars beneath the cheerless blanket of gray clouds. It's a perfect reflection of our sinking spirits. We're exhausted and hungry. Many haven't survived this long, and I'm not sure how much more I can endure. But habit forces me to keep flapping my wings. Maybe I can find another air current to glide on when I reach the other side of this hill.

We've traveled southward for thousands of miles. Everything in this new place -- the sights, the sounds, even the smells -- is all so different. It's all unlike anything I've ever experienced. But somehow, it's still familiar.

As we crest the top of the hill, we feel the warmth in the air. We see the leafy green trees and open fields before us. The clouds seem to part and slide away. The sun sinks low toward the horizon, staining the sky a rainbow of hues. The instinct that has been pulling me onward for so long now is finally quiet. I need to stay.

I'm home.