Flying Lessons

The Swans
Something draws me to the window and I stand there, gazing out at the bluegray horizon where the water meets the sky. I am only standing there a few moments when four swans, the wide span of their wings, the long lines of their outstretched necks, fly noiselessly only a few feet from where I stand. My breath catches in wonder, and my skin tingles.

They fly on to the smallest of the three lochs on the wasteland in front of my apartment, spiralling in towards the water, before gracefully settling upon its surface. The ripples cast across the calm waters smooths almost instantly, and there they are: a family of swans returned home.

I stand and watch them through the thick glass of my window for a few minutes more, before retreating towards the kettle and the promise of tea.

The Geese
“Oh look!” My mum leaps to her feet and runs to the window of her apartment, which looks out across the central lowlands towards the silhouetted form of Ben Ledi. I follow her, staring out into the patchy blue sky, trying to figure out what it is that she can see. My long distance sight frequently fails me, and so when she points again, I have to admit that I don’t see anything.

“Geese,” she tells me. “Hundreds and hundreds of migrating geese. A long line of them. Stay and see if they fly closer or if they change direction before they get here.”

A moment or two passes, and finally I can see them. A faint black line spreading out from west to east – more geese that I think I have ever seen in flight at any one time. My heart flutters as I fumble for my camera, but Mum already has the other window opened wide. “Come,” she says. “Listen.”

We stand there together as the line of geese comes closer, that iconic V-shape appearing clear and unbroken. And then the noise. The noise of hundreds of geese flying south for the season fills the fresh air of late Autumn. I press the button on my camera and stay standing there, watching, until the last goose has flown.

The Gulls
Julie gives me a gift. It’s a beautiful copy of Richard Bach’s Jonathan Livingston Seagull illustrated with evocative black and white photographs of seagulls in flight. In many ways, I feel as though I live amongst the seagulls, here in my harbour home. I watch them all the time as I make the dinner, write my articles, brush my hair. I see them swoop and dive, soar and circle. Living so close to the water, we share this space with the gulls.

I read the story of Jonathan in one great gulp – greedily, completely absorbed by his pursuit to fly faster – his continual search for perfect speed. I arrive at this part of the story – the exchange between Jonathan and Maynard, a disabled gull with a wing that does not permit him to fly.

“Come along then.” said Jonathan. “Climb with me away from the ground, and we’ll begin.”
“You don’t understand My wing. I can’t move my wing.”
“Maynard Gull, you have the freedom to be yourself, your true self, here and now, and nothing can stand in your way. It is the Law of the Great Gull, the Law that Is.”
“Are you saying I can fly?”
“I say you are free.”

I stand at my window and watch the birds fly, and Jonathan’s words flock around my consciousness. He tells me, “You are free.”

The Starlings
I wonder if it was freedom that the girls in this video felt as the starlings’ murmuration was performed above their heads…