Not all feathers yearn for the sky, and not every wing lifted by the wind carries a dream.

To fly, sometimes, is simply to survive.

For a flock of birds, to survive and fly far together matters far more than dancing beneath the sunset.

Every feather that cuts through the wind follows the call of the leader—keeping pace with companions, guiding fledglings through the gales, wrestling with rivals in the air.

Riding the wind, we rise together toward the clouds.

Every leader remembers the way home—the great river, the scattered islands, and the familiar ponds.

Thousands of small homes, alive with chirping, eating, drinking, and playing.

Every long journey's end is the start of another spring departure.

The place that shelters us through this winter will be the home we return to next year.