A Whistle Across the Spray

I shook the sleep from my limbs and stepped out onto a sun-drenched sandstone ledge right above the waterfall. High in the limestone fissures across the spray, a clutch of crested gliders were chirpin' their morning chorus. I couldn't resist answerin' back, sugar. Cuppin' my fingers to my lips, I whistled a low, warblin' trill that cut straight through the roar of the falls. The flock went dead quiet for a heartbeat, then the boldest little creature swooped down on amber wings and dropped a banded spiral shell smack against the stone by my boot. I scooped up that smooth keepsake with a slow grin. Out here, makin' friends just takes a steady nerve.