Your first hop. It's up slightly and to a woody-ledge substrate that looks and smells like home, yet also feels uncomfortably not like it. You pause, adjusting your grip and pretend to look purposely at the hue-filled horizon but even its august nature is no balm for your swirling anxiety swirling inside. Above you creating circles of peace is a Red-tailed Hawk, adrift on an invisible net of currents. Below you is a pine tree-filled valley, falling away beyond the outcropping of ancient rock steadfastly wearing time as time wills. Your next step is a brief down, onto a craggy yet sturdy horizontal wooden bar of oak. Your mind tells you this is unsafe: turnaround, stay. But your instincts are your master and they march you into the unknown. A fountain of mid-summer air invites itself into the next moment, moving trees, branches, and leaves and your feathers. Your talons clutch the oak branch more tightly as all of nature looks on and wonders if courage made your heart or doubt made your mind. As the air turbulence reverberates throughout your fortress structure, you extend your wings above your head to stay on the balance beam until calm takes its turn by your side. You turn your head and glance at the only home you've ever known. You pause. And return your focus to the unknown ahead. If you spread your wings, you will what? If you do not spread your wings, you will what? If you do not move?