Where the Wild Wings Go

Wren reached Willowmere Marsh at dawn with her notebook under one arm. The first chilly morning of October belonged to the geese. Every year they arrived in a glittering, brown-and-white whirl, rested among the reeds, then continued south.

Today, the sky was empty.

Mara waited at the boardwalk’s end. Reeds whispered. A duck made a neat V across the misty water.

“No geese,” she wrote on the October 1 page.

North of the marsh, wind had flattened the reeds. Wren followed the muddy edge and found three small feathers caught on their tips. One was brown at its base and silver along the edge.

“A goose feather.”

Then she heard it: a thin honk far over the fields.

Mara turned toward Blueglass Ridge. The sound came from the north-east.

“That’s wrong,” she said, and ran home.

Grandfather Eli was watering geraniums beside the balloon shed. His faded blue cap was tipped low, and Bright Morning lay folded inside the open doors.

“The geese aren’t at the marsh,” Wren said. “I found this, and I heard them beyond the ridge.”

Eli studied the feather, then the weather vane creaking above the shed. Its arrow pointed south-west.

“Last night’s wind blew hard from the south-west,” he said. “It could have pushed tired birds over Blueglass Ridge.”

“So they’re nearby?”

“What does that tell us, sharp-eyed navigator?”

Mara looked at the ridge. “They’re lost. Not gone.”

“Likely enough.”

Her gaze slipped to the balloon. Pale gold and blue fabric spilled over the shed floor beside the wicker basket.

“We could search from Bright Morning.”

“A balloon is no friend to a rough wind.”

“The wind has stopped.” Wren pointed to the willow branches, hanging still, and the chimney smoke rising straight. “I can navigate. I’ll use your map.”

Eli checked his weather report and spoke to their ground crew by radio. A light breeze aloft would carry them toward the ridge, and the forecast allowed a short flight. At last, he nodded.

“Warm coat. Map. We’ll see what the morning says.”

Soon the burner breathed overhead like a friendly dragon. Wren held the map while Eli checked ropes and straps twice. Then they climbed into the basket.

The field fell away beneath them. Willowmere spread below in hedges, orchards, roofs, and shining marsh water. Wren searched past the low blue ridge, holding her breath.

“There!”

Beyond Blueglass Ridge, a crooked line of birds flickered against the sky.