Remy’s Little Flight

Remy looked from his snowy mound to the flat rock just a little way away. “That’s where I want to land,” he said.

The rock stood broad and sturdy on the open tundra, with room for two owls to sit side by side. Remy could see every bump in its top from where he stood. Between the mound and the rock lay a short stretch of packed snow.

Sage, an older snowy owl, watched from the far side of the mound. “It’s a good place to look out from,” Sage said. “You can see a long way across this plain.”

Remy stretched his wings. Their white feathers spread wide, with little dark marks like dashes of ink. He was a bird, just as Sage was, and flying was something his wings could do. But this would be his first flight to that rock.

“I’ll go in one short swoop,” Remy said. He shuffled to the mound’s edge and peered across the gap. The rock looked close. Then he looked at his feet. There was only a narrow strip of snow in front of him before the mound sloped down.

“Ready?” Sage asked.

Remy nodded. He bent his legs and opened his wings. A breeze slid across the tundra. It pushed at his feathers, nudging him sideways.

“Whoa!” Remy said, catching his balance. He stepped back.

The breeze lifted the tips of his wings and ruffled the small feathers around his face. Remy glanced at the rock again. It was still close, but the wind seemed to be saying, Not quite yet.

Sage didn’t hurry him. “You can watch the snow,” Sage said. “It tells you what the breeze is doing.”

Remy looked down. Fine grains of snow whisked over the mound’s top and skittered toward the open plain. He watched them slide past, then watched a little hollow behind the mound, where the snow barely moved.

He moved toward that quiet hollow. The breeze felt smaller there, as if the mound were holding it back.

Remy looked from the sheltered spot toward the rock. The open space between them waited, wide and still. He had a new idea, and he was ready to try it.

Remy settled behind the mound, where the breeze brushed past instead of pushing hard against him. He stood still and watched the snow grains. On the open side, they hurried along. Here, they rested in place.

Sage came closer. “What are you thinking?”

“If I start here,” Remy said, “I’ll have more room to move before I reach the edge.” He turned his body toward the open space and the rock. The mound sheltered his back, and his path lay clear ahead.

Remy began moving toward the open ground, placing his feet slowly in the snow. The rock stayed in view. So did the short gap.

He continued at an easy pace. As he moved out from behind the mound, the breeze met him again, but it no longer caught him by surprise. Remy leaned into it just a little. He spread his wings.

For a moment, the air tugged at one wingtip. Remy felt himself tip sideways. His feet slid a tiny bit, and his wings wobbled.

“Easy,” Sage called. “You’ve got room.”

Remy steadied himself. He remembered how the snow moved and how the sheltered spot had felt. He aimed his beak toward the rock, held his wings wide, and edged closer to the mound’s rim.

Then he pushed off.

His wings beat once, twice. The snow dropped away beneath him. The breeze nudged him, but Remy’s wings held him steady. He glided across the short gap, with the rock growing nearer beneath his feet.

“Almost there!” Sage called.

Remy stretched his feet forward. His toes touched the flat rock. He flapped once to balance, then settled onto the sturdy top.

“I made it!” he said.

Sage lifted from the snow and flew over with a smooth, easy glide. Sage landed beside him, leaving a little space between their feathers.

Remy looked back at the mound, then across the broad tundra plain. The rock felt firm under his feet. He had crossed the open space in one short flight, using his own idea to find a better place to begin.

Sage gave a pleased little nod. “That was a good way to fly.”

Remy’s feathers puffed with pride. The breeze moved over the rock, but now he knew where it came from and how it traveled.

Remy shuffled a little closer to Sage. From the rock, the tundra looked like a wide, quiet blanket, marked by low rises and shallow dips. The snowy plain stretched so far that its edge seemed to meet the pale sky.

A thin line of wind swept across the open ground. Remy watched it carry a few loose snow grains past the mound. Behind the mound, the hollow stayed calm. He could see the place where he had paused, and the small tracks he had left in the snow.

“I thought the rock was close,” Remy said. “Then the breeze made it feel far away.”

“Sometimes a short way takes a little looking,” Sage replied.

Remy tilted his head. “And a few careful steps.”

“And a few careful steps,” Sage agreed.

They sat quietly together. Remy folded his wings against his sides. The feathers that had spread wide for flying now lay smooth and snug. Sage tucked one foot beneath a warm layer of feathers, and Remy tried the same. It felt cozy on the broad rock.

A small snowy owl’s call floated across the plain. Remy turned to listen. Far away, another call answered, faint and friendly. Nothing hurried across the snow. The tundra seemed to be settling into its own stillness.

Remy gazed at the open space between the rock and the mound. Now it brought back the feeling of air beneath his wings and the firm rock beneath his toes. He had crossed it in a short flight, with a few wingbeats and a safe landing.

“Tomorrow, I’ll remember the quiet spot,” he murmured.

Sage’s eyes grew half closed. “And you’ll remember that your wings can carry you.”

Remy leaned his shoulder against Sage’s warm feathers. Together they watched the snowy plain from their new perch. The breeze brushed over them and went on across the tundra, while the mound and the rock stood still beneath the wide Arctic sky.

Remy tucked his beak close to his feathers. Sage settled beside him, and the two snowy owls rested together on the sturdy rock, at peace with the quiet night.