THE FLIGHT OF BIRDS 



skies is the unsavory buzzard. He is the winged 

 embodiment of grace, ease, and leisure. Judging 

 from appearances alone, he is the most disinterested 

 of all the winged creatures we see. He rides the 

 airy billows as if only to enjoy his mastery over 

 them. He is as calm and unhurried as the orbs in 

 their courses. His great circles and spirals have 

 a kind of astronomic completeness. That all 

 this power of wing and grace of motion should be 

 given to an unclean bird, to a repulsive scavenger, 

 is one of the anomalies of nature. He does not need 

 to hurry or conceal his approach; what he is after 

 cannot flee or hide; he has no enemies; nothing 

 wants him; and he is at peace with all the world. 

 The great condor of South America, in rising from 

 the ground, always faces the wind. It is often 

 captured by tempting it to gorge itself in a compara- 

 tively narrow space. But if a strong enough wind 

 were blowing at such times, it could quickly rise 

 over the barrier. Darwin says he watched a 

 condor high in the air describing its huge circles for 

 six hours without once flapping its wings. He says 

 that, if the bird wished to descend, the wings were 

 for a moment collapsed; and when again expanded, 

 with an altered inclination, the momentum gained 

 by the rapid descent seemed to urge the bird up- 

 wards with the even and steady movement of a 

 paper kite. In the case of any bird soaring, its 

 motion must be sufficiently rapid for the action of 



