Chasing Waterfalls

I've lived here my whole life. Every bit of it. Not that I have much choice. The fish are here. Thing is, nothing ever changes. Every day, every season, every year, it's the same sand and rocks, same water. Sure, I can just fly up this way or down that way, or across the water. But no matter where I go, it's always the same. Sometimes the trees look different, and the humans jabber different-sounding mating calls. Otherwise, same sand, same water, no matter how far I fly. Just a giant puddle.

Fortunately, "here" is a big place. I've not seen all of it, not even much of it. "Here" is anywhere where the land meets the water and I can fish, or nest with my mate. There's room enough for us, and our whole family, and all the rest of the families. Room even for the other kinds of birds who live on the fish or the crabs or mussels. Room for all of us, and more. But no matter where we go in our gigantic homeland, it's all sand and rocks, and water.

Crossing the water is even worse, for there is nothing out there but water. Miles and miles of water, and nowhere to land. What I always wanted to see, though, was the land. I've ventured a little way over the land. There are trees of all kinds, hills, mountains, all sorts of land animals, many small kinds of birds, and humans with plumage of many hues, and the human nests built of stone, and the huge bellowing animals humans climb inside of that carry them around. Heh, those animals are something. They're made of some kind of shiny smooth stone, remarkably fast, and it's impossible to get their attention. They only pay attention to the humans. It's fun to tease them, dropping guano on them and knowing that they won't even flinch. They sure have more patience than I do.

I always wanted to see more of the land. It seems to be as endless as the water, but it's far more interesting. When you go to different places on the land, things look different. There are endless things to see. But the fish are in the water, and a body needs fish. I would never see much of the land, because I can't wander too far from the water.

My mate and I, we seem to be the only ones that think about things like this. Others are content in their lives, perfectly happy catching fish and nesting. They want nothing more. Sometimes they'll play games to pass the time. They'll go around trying to drop guano on the shiny beasts the humans ride in, or they'll fly into the wind when there's a storm wind coming from the water, and it looks like they're just hovering there because they can't fly forward. We were watching this game a few days ago, during the last autumn storm. The great moving sea in the sky was passing over us, pouring water into the sea and onto the land. Our friends were playing the flying-in-place game not far from the land. We never thought that the game was very exciting, so we were just sitting on our rock, watching and talking. It was this talk that made us realize that something about the world just didn't make sense.

See, the skywater pours down from the great sea in the sky so often, and in such large amounts, that after a while you'd think the land would disappear as the seawater filled up higher. Not only that, but the skywater, for all its pouring down, never seems to empty. It moves away for a while and stops pouring on us, but it always comes back, sometimes smaller and pouring less, but always full of water. So the great sea in the sky fills with water from nowhere, and pours water down into the seawater which goes nowhere. We were wondering now, my mate and I, where does all the water come from? And where is it going?

"Well," my mate said, "maybe the seawater pours back into the skywater, and the water just moves in a circle."

"Then why don't we ever see the water pouring up? Besides, everything else in the world only falls down. Even birds like us, we would fall if the wind didn't lift us up."

"Maybe the wind lifts up the seawater, too," said my mate.

"But seawater doesn't have wings like we do. It's just water."

"So if the seawater isn't pouring back up into the skywater, then where is it going?"

"What if the seawater has no bottom? Then it can keep filling up forever, and the water will never get higher," I offered.

My mate chuckled. "If the seawater has no bottom, then the skywater would fall forever, and we would never see the top of the water. But there it is."

"Then the only other way I can think of, is that there's another great sea above the skywater, pouring into it. And the seawater pours into another sea below it."

"Then where does it end? How many seas are pouring into seas?" My mate had a good question. It was hard to imagine a sea under the seawater anyway. And anyway, we could see no such thing. But maybe there could still be a sea above the great sea in the sky, pouring into it. We decided then that we would have to solve this mystery one question at a time. We couldn't very well dive under the seawater to see if there's another sea under it somewhere. But we could fly up, and find out where the skywater comes from.

We took to the air, soaring high as we could. Eventually the wind stopped lifting us up, and we had to start flapping our wings to climb higher. We were nowhere near the great sea in the sky, but the falling water was cold and making us heavy. We were getting tired. Bit by bit, we were falling back to the land. We tried to climb higher, but we couldn't. We were using all of our strength just to try to stay as high as we were. We couldn't do it anymore. But we didn't want to go back down yet, not without an answer to our question. We couldn't see past the great sea in the sky, couldn't see what was above it, if anything. It was just gray, streaked with white and black. Then the great sea in the sky flashed brightly and we heard the clamor of heavy crashing waves above us. It was time to go back down. We would have to try again when the water wasn't falling.

We stretched our wings wide and glided back to the land in slow, wide arcs. There was a heavy fog over the land, and we couldn't find our rock. As much as everything looks the same in our home, at least there are rocks we can recognize - if we can see them. In fact, by the time we arced our way down to where we could see, we found that we weren't near land at all. There was only water beneath us, and we were exhausted. We could hear the gigantic crashing waves in the great sea in the sky. They were always so much louder than the seawater waves crashing against the land. The water was rolling and churning below us, and the wind was throwing us about. We struggled on in the direction that we knew would lead to land. It seemed like it took forever, and a couple of times I lost sight of my mate. Finally we found a rock sticking out above the water. It wasn't land, but it had an overhang opposite the wind. It was shelter. We landed.

The storm went on for hours, and we were hungry. We wanted to try to figure out how we were going to find out where the water came from, but we were too tired and hungry. We slept through the rest of the storm. We awakened when the sound of falling skywater slackened, and the great sea in the sky was just dripping down, no longer pouring. We glided back to the land. We were too tired to want to fish, but fortunately there were still some fresh fish washed up on the land. Some of our friends were just making their way there from down the shore when we arrived, and we all dined well.

We learned from our friends that we had gone miles to the north of where we had started. We had never seen this place before ourselves, but our friends told us that they came here often to splash around in the sweet water. We followed them to the sweet water, and saw something that completely amazed us.

The sweet water we usually see comes from a small stream that flows down from the land. It gets wider when it rains, but it never gets wider than two wingspans. But this sweet water stream was many, many wingspans wide. At first it looked like the seawater, but we could see land on the other side. The water was sweet, drinkable. And we saw that it was flowing down to the seawater, mixing with it at the edge of the land. Oh, great. Not only was the skywater pouring into the sea, but huge streams of sweet landwater were pouring in, too. Where was all of this water going?

Well, we knew we wouldn't find answers by diving into the seawater. After our ordeal trying to find the source of the skywater, we decided that our answer wasn't in the sky, either. The seawater and skywater were no help. But maybe, just maybe, this huge source of landwater might lead us to the answer. And the best thing was, the sweet landwater was filled with very large, juicy, tasty, fatty fish!

We spent the next day eating and resting so that we would have energy for our journey to the source of the landwater. We spent some time splashing and frolicking in the cold, clear water. We wondered how far inland the landwater would go. This was our chance not only to find out where the water comes from, but to see much of the land as well. The next morning at daybreak we started out, following the landwater away from the seawater, deep into the land.

The landwater was lined on both sides by trees of many kinds. We saw little animals running in trees, animals with thick hairy tails. There were large-toothed hairy animals chewing on trees and living in tangled masses of fallen trees lying across narrow streams. Birds of many colors flitted about in the trees, birds much smaller than us. There were also many kinds of bugs we had never seen before. Large animals with strange-looking sticks stuck in their heads were ramming into each other in a clearing. It looked like one of the mating rituals we saw among the shiny stone beasts that carry the humans inside. Except when the stone beasts ram each other they squeal like some terrible giant bird, and the sound of the impact is much louder than with these stick-heads. They both get wounded and sometimes they kill each other, and the humans seem to get very upset about this. In any case, they don't ram each other over and over like the stick-heads. Once is enough to prove their might to the females, I guess.

By the time the sun was directly above, we found a place to rest where a smaller stream joined the one we were following. We looked around us and saw an enormous hairy monster, large as one of the human-carriers, with sharp teeth and claws. It was standing in the smaller stream, occasionally plucking out a huge fish, far larger than any fish we could carry. It would strip away the skin and eat it, then leave the meat of the fish behind. There were skinless fish scattered about, and we made our way toward them hesitantly. Who knew if this monster liked to eat the skin off of birds, too? But the monster didn't seem to notice us, and soon ambled away. Other birds, large as we are but with sharp beaks and talons and with dark plumage, came and started tearing at the fish, and we joined them. When we all had our fill and started to leave, some fuzzy gray critters with black hair around their eyes came out of the brush, sniffed and pawed at the fish remnants, then carried them off.

By the time we settled in for the night, we had traveled many miles and seen the strangest creatures. We had even dined alongside terrible hairy monsters and birds that we later found out were savage cannibals that killed and ate some of the smaller birds, plucking them out of the sky the way we pluck fish from the sea. Not everything here was so twisted and disturbing, though. There were plants with strange leaves that were as colorful as any bird we had seen. There were trees that had curled winding branches that we never saw before, as well as the familiar tall straight trees that usually stand near the seawater. Everywhere the land was teeming with critters. There was never so much life near the seawater, except for the humans. And we had yet to see a human around the landwater, nor any of their nests or stone trails, nor their human-carrier beasts. We slept well that night, thinking of what wonders we might see tomorrow.

As the light of the sun filtered through the dense wall of trees, we started off again, moving farther inland. We came to a place where the water was a bit narrower and was moving very fast, sliding and swirling around rocks. Looking ahead we saw some humans sitting on a bright red log and holding sticks in their hands, slapping the water with them. Their plumage was bright yellow and orange. They let out whoops and cries as their log swerved around rocks and bounded in the frothy water. We swooped in for a closer look, and one of the humans saw us and raised a hand toward us, one finger sticking out. This must have been some kind of a signal, because then the other humans looked up at us, too. Maybe they were wondering what a couple of birds from the seawater were doing so far inland. Who knows? But when they looked up, their log crashed into a rock. It flew through the air a little bit and flipped over, spilling the humans into the landwater, then landed on top of one of them. As they babbled and sputtered and flailed in the water, we continued on.

We followed the fast-flowing landwater until we started to hear a rumble, like distant waves crashing. But it was a bit different. It was a steady roar, not the rythmic rise and fall of waves hitting the land in succession. A roar, and a hiss. As we circled around the next bend in the stream, we saw a high cliff, higher than the ones we nest on. Landwater was falling over the cliff, pouring into the stream we had been following. A large group of the hair-monsters were gathered near the falling water, splashing and wrestling. Small ones were frolicking on the bank and in the shallow water near it. A little way downstream from the gathering, large fish were jumping out of the water where the rocks were, looking as if they were trying to move upstream. Hair-monsters were waiting for them, catching them out of the air as they leapt. Some ate the fish and others ate only the skins. There was a fine mist around the place where the water fell into the stream, and the light of the sun made dancing patterns of colors in the misty air. The greenery was thick and lush. Birds of many kinds were gathered in the trees, singing their songs. It was such a sight, nothing like you would ever see near the seawater, so full of life.

My mate and I nibbled at some scraps of fish, found a cleft in the cliff and made camp for the day. We had seen that beyond this cliff there were no fish to be caught in the water. So we took a long rest for the remainder of the day, and ate our fill. We didn't know how much farther we had to travel to find the source of the landwater, so we wanted to be fresh and ready for a long journey in the morning.

We rose as the sun crept over the distant eastern horizon, in the direction we were to travel. Behind us, toward the seawater, the great sea in the sky was approaching. We flew for a few hours and the land seemed to be rising higher. The wind wasn't holding us up so easily. The trees were getting thinner, with more space between them. The air was getting colder. We stopped to rest and looked back the way we had come. We could see the falling water far below, and the trees looked so small from here. Tiny moving brown blotches indicated the hair-monsters.

We continued on, and the farther we went, the more the land became rocky, and soon there were no more trees. We passed near the nest of a cannibal-bird, taking care not to get too close. On we went until there was white powder on the rocks ahead. It was freezing cold here and the air was very thin, so we stopped to take a look around before flying on. The cold white powder continued on up to the highest point of the land. We settled in a crevice in the rocky cliffs, watching the great sea in the sky as it flowed closer to us. Remembering the trouble we had last time we were this close to it during a storm, we tucked ourselves tight inside the crevice, my mate cuddling against me so that we would stay warm. The great sea in the sky loomed overhead, and the first of the water began to fall on the land.

Something was different, though. This water wasn't water at all. It was the white powder that was all over the land. So this stuff comes from the great sea in the sky, too? Why doesn't it fall on us near the seawater? This whole question of water just kept getting more and more confusing. We still don't know where the skywater comes from, or where the seawater is going. Now there's some new kind of water that doesn't flow, and looks like white powder.

We waited for the freezing cold white powder to stop falling. As the great sea in the sky moved on, the high sun gave its light and warmth back to the land. As the air grew warmer, we watched as the white powder started to disappear, little by little. At the same time, little streams of water flowed down into the large stream we had followed. My mate and I were not sure what to make of this.

My mate said, "Maybe that stuff is the water. When it's too cold it turns to white powder, and when it warms up it's water again." That was as good of an answer as any that I was likely to give. But that still left our first questions unanswered. What had we come here for, if we were not to learn the way of the water? What good was our long journey away from our family and friends, amidst strange and frightening creatures? Had we accomplished nothing?

"And maybe," my mate continued, "if the water turns to powder when it's cold, becomes solid, then maybe in places where the air is warmer it turns into something softer than water. Maybe it becomes so soft and light that the wind can lift it up into the great sea in the sky. Like those puffy things that come off of those colorful plants, that float on the wind. But it's probably smaller than that, like the fog or the mist, but lighter and spread out so we can't see it."

I pondered this for a moment. If that was true, then we were right the first time. The skywater comes down, the landwater flows to the seawater, the seawater rises like invisible mist into the great sea in the sky. All one big circle. It actually made a little sense. It seemed a little bit too fantastic to believe, but it was still a nice thought. It put my mind at ease. There's no way we can prove any of this anyway, if the seawater flows invisibly to the skywater. How would we know? We would never really know, it's all beyond our eyes. It's all just pretty thoughts. But the more I thought about it, the less I wanted to know. The last few days we had spent chasing the falling water back to its source, they were the best days of my life. It was time spent exploring, learning, experiencing, and feeling closer to my mate.

So tomorrow we will go back to the seawater, and tell everyone about the wonders of the land. I don't think many of them will come to see for themselves. They are content living out their lives by the seawater, fishing and nesting. But my mate and I agree that they will love hearing our stories. They're just like us, only we're a bit more curious. They want to know the answers as much as we do. We just decided to go and look for them. And someday, maybe their curiosity will take them on a journey across the seawater to see if there's anything on the other side. Maybe there's a whole other land, with new plants and critters and monsters and humans. Maybe there are wonders on a distant shore that are as interesting as what we discovered. Maybe there will be some new clue about where the water comes from.

My mate and I, we are going to relax for a while, and build our nest. And we will tell our children, "Don't be afraid to go off chasing waterfalls."