A Gust from the Ridge

You spoke of flight. Wings require elevation, so I climbed the ribbed spines of the tall books until the room fell away below. Up here on the top shelf, the air currents shift with every open doorway. I planted my hind feet firmly on the polished oak edge, spread my wings wide against the draft, and let the gentle breeze test my balance. I did not leap—not yet. A true glider measures a height, watches a shadows shift across the carpet, and waits for the exact amal.