Learning to fly has been really easy so far, sailing over the steppes on the morning winds, racing the hawks and chasing the tumbleweeds. But I daren’t cross the canyons that split the plain. It’s too deep, too cold, too gaping and empty and hungry. Every time I get near it I feel as though it is pulling me in to the dark bottom, and I feel my wings seize and my legs turn to jelly.

I’ll have to pass the canyon one day, and I know I’ll do it with ease. I know I will. It’s a hole in the floor, it isn’t full of malice or hunger, It’s full of grit and cold air and probably spiders. Maybe as my flight grows, I’ll grow, and I’ll fly wherever I want without a thought. But for now I’ll stare at this howling canyon and listen to the groundhogs as they chatter at my fears, and wait until my wings are strong enough to carry me over safely.