Migration Patterns

She didn’t want to go.
She was tired.
My wings are too fragile, she moaned.
I won’t last.
I won’t make it.
Just leave me here.
I’ll be fine.
We’ll all be dead in four weeks anyway.
Her brothers and sisters wouldn’t leave her.
They risked screwing up the whole pattern and the timing.
But they couldn’t just fly off without her.
Some wanted to.
You’re being dramatic.
Suck it up.
It’s hard for everyone.
You’re not special.
This is what you were born to do.
You can’t just quit.
But others refused.
What are we going to do, leave you?
In Nova Scotia?
In New Jersey?
In Kentucky or Louisiana?
In Monterrey?
Sometimes they pulled her along.
Sometimes she rode on them.
Sometimes she made it the whole day on her own and didn’t even realize it.
They arrived at the forest for overwintering.

Migration Patterns

For a moment she thought she was in a simulation.
Have I really made it?
The sky was bluer than she’d ever seen.
The air was crisper than she’d ever felt.
She tried not to blink.
You’re glowing, they said.
Look at all of us, she said.