The Bird Cliffs

Polly flew west to the edge of the country, where the land ends in tall cliffs that drop into a grey sea. The cliffs were not empty. They were a city. Millions of seabirds nested on every ledge, calling in a noise like a crowd that never goes home. Polly flew in among them, one more pair of wings, her round glasses wet with sea spray.

Her favourites were the puffins. They are small and round, with bright orange feet and striped beaks. They dig their nests in the grassy clifftop, like rabbits with wings. In the air their small wings are a fast blur. But underwater they turn graceful, flying down after fish. Polly saw one come up with a whole row of silver fish in its beak.

On the same cliffs lived the arctic tern. It makes the longest journey of any animal on Earth. Every year it flies from the top of the world to the bottom and back, always chasing the summer light. It almost never sees winter.

As the long evening came, the birds drifted in from the sea and settled on their ledges. Polly found a quiet spot of her own and looked out at the waves. She felt at home among so many wings.