Yesterday there were three falcon eyases huddled together at the end of the upper ledge: two steps and they’d be off. Momma Hartley again flew right to them with a meal to entice them to come for it but from eighteen floors up they went, Nope. After you. No, after you. No, I insist. Well *I’m* not gonna let go of this perfectly good gravity.

And so they got a second extra day of letting their feathers grow out more.

Flap unevenly and you find yourself doing the Hokey Pokey and turning yourself about.

And then–hey! Cool!

The last one hung around for awhile hoarding the prey all to herself but after three hours alone for the first time ever it got to her: if they could do it she could do it, and she, too, flapped those wings and stepped off into the air to see what would happen next.