Spirit's Flying ability was not greatly affected by the injuries he suffered as a young crow. He
could fly as fast as most crows, although his stamina probably was not as good as crows in the wild. Also, on
occasion he had difficulty landing because of his injured feet. At such times he would land, take a tumble, and usually come to rest up-right on his feet. It was quite funny to watch!
Generally, however, he became quite adapt at landing, as long as it was on the ground.
I will always remember the 15 May 1991, because on that day Spirit had a rather remarkable flight.
He had flown often in the past, but never with such eventful results. It was a beautiful, warm, spring day, and
there was a steady wind blowing from the southwest - a mild, inviting wind, which Spirit quickly learned to use to
good advantage. If I had imagined the eagerness with which he would fly, I would have hesitated giving the gentle
push that released him into the breeze.
In fact, it was hardly a push; I simply held him with my hands, moved them forward and up, and he
was away, flying strong. I was surprised at the strength of his wings, the certainty of his flight, and the speed
with which he was moving from me. He flew low at first, gradually gaining altitude as he crossed the field. I had
expected Spirit to cross the field, glide low amongst the tall hemlock and pine trees, before coming to rest as
usual on a floor of familiar pine needles. However, this flight was different. Upon reaching the tree line he rose
sharply, a good eighty feet above the ground, so I knew he wasn't going to sit on those pine needles. He soared, as
the wind lifted his body up and over the tallest hemlock, and in a few moments he was gone. It is difficult to
describe the emotion, the feeling in my stomach as he disappeared from sight.
I felt joy!
I was sad.
I felt ecstatic!
I was lonely.
I thought, “There, you idiot,
now you’ve done it.
That crow’s on a one way ticket out of here!”