Heavy shutters ascend. I can’t help but admire the lush terrain as it melts into familiar knolls -- nor can my soul be leashed to quell the spark of wild excitement that heats my blood. Four yards from where we stand the solid mound ends at a sharp drop-off. Beyond and below the jagged threshold a razor reef is exposed on the down stroke of crashing waves. I stand at the end of a line, we are a clutch of yearling adolescents born in either spring or summer. We wait on the cliff with our wings half tucked. The long primaries fan back and our coverts flutter quietly in the tangy wind. Parents and neighbors have gathered behind us in a semi-circle. Chatter, music and laughter rise from the group. Young ones sing and dance to the drumbeat of a dozen feet. The atmosphere is charged with the buzz and pride that boils our blood. On my left, a boy with bright amber eyes and a milky hide, Ailbe, or Be'be as we call him… His rump tips right, butting sharply against my hip. I glance over with a smile that mirrors his nervous laugh and shinning eyes. “Is é seo an lá is fearr riamh !!” He chortles, all but dancing in place.

From the corner of my vision, I see Ma coming forward -- her lovely patchwork frame sways gently to the rhythm of distant drums. I start to turn her way...but the rebuke on her face reminds me to hold my position. Ma steps up behind me, on my right. Ailbe beams and leans away to talk with another sham – giving us a moment of privacy. I feel her breath on my short spine. Her lips and teeth scratch gently against my withers. “Coinnigh do cheann,” that voice hums gentle encouragement, “Beidh tú a dhéanamh go maith.” My heart skips around like the ripples in the tide. Today we are celebrating the festival of an chéad eitilt. One of many stepping stones in the life of a son or daughter born to these misty hills.

Our elder one comes from the collection of adults to face us. His beard and heavy wings are dappled with silver, “Sa lá atá inniu cheiliúradh linn óige,” those steel grey eyes regard our line sternly. Ma steps away and turns from me. Our smaller bodies straighten, his stoic words send a hush to fall over us all, “Agus do chéad eitilt!” This is our first ‘official’ flight. But it isn’t our first mounting -- my parents (and all the others) have been coaching us privately for months. They taught us secretly until our test runs were perfect.

A shaky breath rivets through me…and his voice drowns away…
______________________________________________

I wake abruptly. Cuing a brown bellied robin to startle and take wing for a nearby branch. For a few blissful seconds I’m trapped in the haze of that memory; my attention travels from left to right with dumb expectations. Above me, an unblemished sky allows full access to the midday sun. She beams down brightly through a thin canopy of hollow branches. Those warm rays are a welcome caress compared to the chill of fog. Life returns to the land and new buds of green to appear on trees and shrubbery.

But...this wasn’t my home.

Leaning back, I stretch my hindfeet and wince as a sharp ache travels up the length of each leg. Howya reality. A muffled groan blossoms in the back of my throat. These thick bones are stiff, sore from travel and my muscles ache from overuse. To make things worse -- the binding around my barrel is creating a plethora of issues. The muscles in these wings are almost numb as they beg for release from their cramped hold. There are multiple raw spots that those threads have rubbed and it is becoming more than just an irritant. I reach back, straining in vain for the cord, while knowing that I wouldn’t be able to reach it.

SEAN