Every year swifts nest under a front eave, having at least two fluffy mouths to feed. Which is good to hold the bug population down as their parents fly trying to get them fed. But sooner than later the fluff is picked off and kicked out, and real feathers show. Then the fledglings come out and stand on the edge of the roof asking for food, and somewhere along that time the parents have had it and do demonstration flights and aerial dances to get the young'ns to follow, or just flutter. Then I start to laugh, for the young'ns will fall off the edge and flutter and flop to the ground, and then flutter harder and fly, kind of, back to the safety of the roof.
But they really aren't flying yet, except they are moving through the air. They are stumbling around like a drunken sailor or that almost toddler in diapers, no control over wings and four forces of flight - shucks they can't count that high yet. Too early, too soon, they will have to get much better before they can catch food in flight, much. Still, they do strengthen, smooth out their landings, learn how to make quick twists in flight. Now if the neighbors cat doesn't creep up on them they might make it.
I finished The Boys in the Boat,
Great read, more for me because I row to nowhere in the YMCA, but mostly for the perspective of the people living in the depression, and just hard life, and what was needed to beat the Supermen of Germany on their home waters in 1936. Very interesting.
So after watching Munich last evening I stuck Seabiscuit in to the DVD player and watched the story unfold, again - how against the odds, good sense - the best won. But only because they believed and worked hard. Don't really see that lesson on the media now.
Just like the fledglings, flap those wings furiously until they tire and you get efficient. Then learn to soar.