The Way of the Birds... an excerpt

Come close. Listen.

This story is about a girl and a curlew.

Watch and wait. Travel across the world with them to places on the edge of memory.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You drift into sleep. A dream carries you far away to the north, to a wide open place. You see an egg crack. The tip of a tiny, wet beak pokes through. Breathe in, breathe out. Not a murmur, not a movement.

Then the egg wobbles. All at once every part of the tiny body within explodes with a furious energy, pushing in all directions.

The shell holds tight. Legs kick harder, head and neck push and prod, beak pokes, back and shoulders bump at the shell. Suddenly with a rush, the egg splits, spilling a wet bundle onto the dry grass. A chick is born. A curlew chick.

In your dream you rest on the earth, cushioned between nested grasses and warm mother feathers. The smells are new, different from your big brothers blankets, and yet familiar. The eyes of the chick are wide. So wide. Watching. Breathe in, breathe out. Listening for different sounds beyond time. Waiting.

The sun yawns and stretches over a vast horizon. The chick wakes to the sound of a marshland bursting with life. Shrieks, the flurry of wings, croaks, gurgles, buzzes, burps, cries on the wind, hungry mouths to feed, rustling and shaking and shimmering.

Time passes quickly. Dampness dries to down. Small bird feet scramble to find their place on the earth. You watch the chick tumble towards the light and the loudness, pushing away from the safety of mother and nest. One step and a stumble, two then a flop. You chew your nails. Three steps, then four, five and six. You chew harder, knowing your mother is too far away to tell you to stop. Six and a run. Then the chick collapses in a bundle of fluff. Your fingers hurt. You help her back to the nest. With beak stretched wide the chick drinks the berry juice her mother brings. Together you drift to sleep.

You follow bird tracks out across the mud. The curlew chick is growing strong and hurries to keep up with her mother. You watch the chick watching each step of the mother bird as she probes the mud with a long, slender beak, elegantly pulling up crabs to eat. Then the chick dips her small beak into the wet earth and quickly out again, shaking away a mouthful of mud and grit. Once more and then again. You are there when the curlew chick pulls up her first catch. Squeezing it tight, she runs around in circes as startled as the the young crab dangling from her beak. She stops and takes a gulp. Then swallows. Nothing. The crab is gone. Fallen back to earth and safely down the nearest hole.

You see the feathers grow through her down. Wings form that stretch against the wind. The morning air is sharp as you watch the chick run across the mud, wings flapping. The mother bird runs ahead .You run to keep up with them, leaping and dancing with the wind in your hair.

The feet of the curlew chick are still running, her wings flapping fast, when a puff of wind lifts her into the air. Flapping, flapping and calling, the chick tilts, falling then up again. You wave and shout and urge her on. She dips to the side, on and then flop! Her wings lose control and she lands in a heap on the mud. But the curlew chick has felt the air beneath her wings. You know from your own bumps and scabs her thrill of taking to the sky.