Friday, June 28, 2013

Desert Birds

He stood on the edge of the mesa, the ground far below. It used to be hard to breathe when he toed the cliff. Now he inhaled deeply, and tipped forward.

He accelerated quickly, the wind whipping through his plumage. Straightening his wings, his descent leveled, then reversed into an upward tilt. Pumping powerful muscles he thrust his wings down, gaining altitude. Behind he heard his mate flap against the air.

They were leaving.

The spot in the desert where they'd settled had too little prey, and they'd lost their eggling to malnutrition. So now they beat their wings to go higher than they did to hunt. He embraced the cold as he burst through a tuft of cloud, leaving a hole through it. Once above it the wind had less pull this way or that, and he could see only sky.

His breath came with a slight, pleasant burn. He would test his limits, flying where the air was thin all day. When he landed again he would find himself stronger, with more endurance. For a while.

If he decided to land. For now, he was king of the sky.


  1. This was lovely! Very well-written!

  2. Love it! I want to be in the air with him!

  3. this is from the perspective of a bird? Wow! very well-written I felt flying is familiar.