On the beach, a man with a book gazed out over the water. It was ridges of white near shore, then bright green, then blue that deepened in the distance to a dark, crisp line that marked the curve of the planet. The man, an ex-pilot, felt an intimate kinship with the birds winging overhead.
There were a thousand birds, each grouped with its peers. The Royal Terns stood close together, beaks to windward in silent communication. Gulls were everywhere. A giant Blue Heron stalked the waterline, feet in the gentle surf, long neck leaning over to search the shallow water for food. Sandpipers rushed along the wet sand on blurred feet, stopping only to thrust thin beaks into the ooze, snipping morsels and rushing on.
Pelicans swooped low in twos and threes, climbing abruptly to a vantage point, then diving with folded wings into the foamy sea. A few gulls followed them to snatch the left-over catch.
Least Terns climbed into the wind, then plummeted down in a breathless vertical attack, crashing into the water. They fluttered into the air with a silver prize for a friend on the beach.
Snowy Egrets were living commas on the waterline. They had yellow, waterproof boots.
The man watched a large flock of tiny birds do a dazzling display of precision flying, whirling and turning over the beach, a hundred birds flying as one, changing color as they reversed in unison, bellies to the sun. They flew directly overhead, close enough to touch. The aviator felt privileged to be in their center for an instant, hearing their beating wings and their joyous cries.
The Royal Terns rose together and did a turn over the surf and landed on the other side of the man, facing into the wind again like fifty feathered weather-vanes.
It was the perfect place to doze. He slipped off, the book resting on his knee.
Want to fly, Boy?
The speaker was so close, he saw only the eye. It was bright yellow, like the sun.
...Y, yeah! .... it's been years, but ... Well, let's get on with it!
The eye moved away and he could see a huge beak and a feathered head. It flew away and he followed, struggling to catch up. Soon he was locked in formation with the bird. The beach below was a miniature view of his resting place. The yellow eye looked over at him and the big beak nodded slightly in approval. The man smiled, knowing he was still a helluva wingman. The feathered eye-brow raised once...then they were in a dive, wings folding back and the green speckled surf exploding as it came up. The speckles got bigger, silver fish! They hit the water together. He opened his mouth; too late, no fish. He bobbed to the surface. Opening and closing his mouth was like doing the garage door. He would have to be faster next time. Yellow Eye was looking. He took a deep breath. Yellow Eye took off, smiling ever so slightly, feet slapping the water one, two, three times and he was free and winging along above the surf.
The man followed and caught up. They dropped to low-level this time, wing tips almost brushing the water. Lifting inches over waves and back down to minimum. He felt good. He was right there, as if a part of the leader. The water rushed by under his big beak, seemingly faster than he had ever flown. It was what he'd always wanted to do. To go this fast, this low. He smiled and knew his mouth didn't change, but felt his eyes crinkle.
Yellow Eye went up sharply and the man was with him, up and up and then a great flapping of wings, bodies motionless in the air, and a half roll into the dive. They folded their wings and knifed into the water.
Good Job, Yellow Eye said, looking at his empty beak. 'course, the whole point is to get fish...
Well, let's get on with it then! the man said, shocked by the hoarse cry he made through his beak. Yellow Eye blinked and unfolded his magnificent wings and began the labor of flight. The man followed, muttering, I'll get the hang of it; third time's a charm. All that came out was a guttural croak.
They flapped lazily into the wind, slowly climbing till the beach was a small, pale strip far below. The man was beginning to feel comfortable on the wing with Yellow Eye. He could see the man in the beach chair, and the book lying beside it. He wondered how long he had before the whole image dissolved and he was again without wings or beak. The beak... he had to learn to control it, or starve. He tried opening it just a little, and almost stalled into the ocean. Yellow Eye looked back, and the man was sure he saw the tremor of a chuckle in that feathered body. He made a note not to open the beak in flight. Since they were just cruising now, he had time to think about this happening. It was miraculous! He questioned nothing, just felt gratitude that it was as it was, his dream come true.
It was the ultimate in flying. None of the man-made faults were there. Unlimited visibility! How superb to have an eye on each side of the slender head! A slight movement of his head, and he could see directly behind, or straight down. Frequently, Yellow Eye stopped pumping and they simply slid along silently together without effort.
No instruments to cross-check. Airspeed, altitude, power setting; all were obsolete. It was pure "seat of the pants" flight...if it feels right, it is right. And that old eternal problem, fuel. Never again would he be in a panic about shortness of fuel. Though, he was feeling a little hungry...
Yellow Eye went into a long glide, and let out a low cackle, beak barely open. There was an answering call up ahead. A large formation of Pelicans was circling, thirty or forty of them. They were waiting for Yellow Eye and the man. They'd been waiting a long time, but weren't in a hurry.
The circle parted and the two merged with the flock. The birds were all around him, great beautiful birds, flapping giant wings with humorous smiles and graceful nonchalance. He was one of them. It felt good, and right. It was the first time in years for this feeling. His eyes misted with happiness. Their thoughts were all around him, like music. Or was it the wind on the wings? No, the harmony told him they were on a mission, going somewhere. They were still in a wide turn, and Yellow Eye eased out in front and leveled off, setting course for the mission. Yellow Eye was the mission leader. His Yellow Eye.
The flock entered a long glide, wings motionless, and they rested, floating over the sea on still air. There was no land in sight. The man practiced staying in formation and wondered where they were going. He gulped down a wave of happiness. A stretch of sand came into view, and he wondered, What is this place?
Never mind, they said in unison. It's the good place.
And it was.
No people. No cars, roads or parking places. There were birds and there were...fish! So many fish that it was not possible to go hungry, even for a novice pelican.
The entire flock rolled in together in a mass gaggle. They bobbed to the surface each with a juicy fish to swallow. It tasted like sushi without Wasabi or rice. They spent all afternoon there, diving and eating until the man could no longer take to the air. He was tired and he was heavy. Too heavy to fly. They all settled into a drowsy flotilla of overweight birds. The man instinctively paddled ashore and found a warm rock to roost upon. The sun went down. His eyes grew heavy and soon he was asleep. Sometime during the night, he felt another bird nestled against him. He made room and mumbled softly, and went back to dreaming of wind and sky and a vast and endless panorama of green water.
Morning was like a crystal chandelier, bright and sparkling. The man felt a calm and complete peace, like the feeling after good sex. The bird next to him was still asleep. He saw it was Yellow Eye. Sex...Have I slept with a male?? He heard chuckles from around the flock.
You think I'm male because I'm a group leader? she said, waking up.
He looked at Yellow Eye in a different way. She was preparing for flight, stretching her wings and looking around, testing the wind.
Great wings, he thought.
She eyed him coolly and took to the air. He followed stiffly, making three splashes with his feet. He caught her and they sailed along together. The group followed.
Yellow Eye circled, allowing them time to join up. At altitude, they settled into a glide, and the man said, Why me?
You applied. We've been watching you. She looked over at him. He could feel the eyes of some of the other birds too. You're still not in.
Not in?
Her beak went up and down in the affirmative, and began to move the wings again.
What do I do to be in?
Wait.
You are very beautiful, he thought, great wings!
Yellow Eye looked back with a kind of motherly glance. You were a "wing man"...?
Well, I liked legs too...
They flapped along in silence for a few minutes. He was looking at her wings. Great! he thought.
Not too bad yourself, Yellow Eye thought.
The man felt a strong silence from the group. The good place was away and gone to the rear, and only empty water slipped under his beak. Somewhere up ahead, was the beach where it started. He wondered again, Will it end when we get there?
Wait and see, came the combined thought. They flew in silence for a while. Then he saw the beach chair and the man. There was a crowd around him and an ambulance parked nearby in the sand.
After some silence, he thought, So that's how it is.
The birds looked at him. Now you know.
Now I know, he thought
You are in. Yellow Eye led them farther down the beach looking for a school of breakfast fish.