Livora Gracely

Everyone saw a clear morning. He noticed what was leaving it.

The young eagles had discovered a new game.

They called it How High?

The rules were simple: climb as high as possible, return to the ridge, then describe something nobody else had seen.

One eagle spotted a distant waterfall.

Another found a herd beyond the northern valley.

The little eagle from the fence post participated differently.

He flew halfway up.

Then came down.

“You lose,” someone announced.

“Probably.”

He landed on a low branch.

That was becoming annoyingly difficult to celebrate.

The following morning, the flock prepared to fly toward the eastern cliffs. The sky was blue. The wind was steady. Even the oldest eagle approved.

The little eagle did not leave.

He was watching a line of swallows flying unusually low across the meadow.

Then beetles began disappearing beneath stones.

A spider’s web between two branches sagged.

He looked toward the eastern cliffs.

“Wrong wind.”

An eagle beside him laughed.

“The wind is going east.”

“I know.”

“That’s where we’re going.”

“I know.”

This conversation was not progressing.

The flock departed.

The little eagle followed—but low.

Halfway across the valley, the eastern wind strengthened.

For the high-flying eagles, that was excellent. They spread their wings and let it carry them faster.

Below, the little eagle turned around.

Nobody followed.

He returned to the ridge and waited.

An hour later, the eastern cliffs disappeared behind a wall of gray.

The same wind that had carried the flock toward them had strengthened enough to make the return flight miserable.

By afternoon, eagles began arriving home individually.

Wet.

Tired.

And noticeably less interested in How High?

The last one landed beside him.

“You knew there would be rain?”

“No.”

The eagle blinked.

“But you came back.”

“The swallows went low. The beetles hid. The web went soft.”

“So you knew.”

The little eagle thought about this.

“I knew they knew.”

That was worse.

Now everyone stared at him.

The next morning, he flew down to his usual fence post.

A beetle crawled past.

Three eagles immediately landed beside him.

Another arrived.

Then two more.

The little eagle looked along the increasingly crowded fence.

“What are you doing?”

“Watching the beetles.”

“They’re eating.”

Six eagles leaned closer.

The beetle stopped.

So did everyone else.

The little eagle sighed.

Yesterday he had learned to read the wind.

Today he learned something harder:

once everyone thinks you know something, even breakfast can become a forecast.