The Moon Hid the Sun

Winter

The winds tempered like aggrieved gods above the English Channel swell. The robin fought against it and struggled the best he could, but he was only a small bird. The fellow robins he had set out on his migration with were no longer in sight; a few had fallen away into the sea, exhaustion and shock bettering them, no fight left in their little bodies. The robin didn't know where the rest of his red breasted companions had gone, probably the same fate- the stormy channel proving to be their graveyard.

The little bird left his destiny up to a higher power, and instead of struggling he allowed the storm to direct his journey.  The wind would roll the dice of his fate. And so the gusts battered him, pushing him down one moment, before forcing him back up the next. At times he was free falling through the air, and the surging dark navy sea came rising up to meet him. Then, when all hope seemed lost, the wind saved him from  death and he would soar again, tumbling ever higher into the grey foreboding. On occasion he would be pushed high enough to be above the winds, and there was a calmness then; for a brief spell all was fine, and the robin would glide among the clouds. The moments remained moments, and the little bird would plummet back into the clutches of the storm.

How long the robin had been in that stormy vortex was not certain, but it finished abruptly, with a sudden lightening of the dark skies, and a mellowing of the winds. It came as a surprise to the creature, and he fell, regaining the power to fly only at the last minute, just avoiding smashing into the sea. Ahead of him he saw land. The white cliffs stood tall and proud as they resisted  the sea that washed against them. This was not his desired destination. He had never been here before, but it would have to do.

#Your comments and votes always mean a lot to me, so please don't hesitate to vote and comment on the story. Good and bad comments welcome!