Air Lines?

The Lines of Oblivion

"Stay safe with me, nino."

"Let's hit the air."

I had been awaiting with great expectation the meeting of the Grog Six with Moro Uno. Yesterday, as I was running along the beach from the south, reversing my usual direction, I stopped dead in the sand of El Moro territory. There was the Grog clan making themselves at home, having crossed the El Moro Line. 

Oblivious to any boundaries, the Grog Six explored different rocks and pulled the poisonous white trumpets of jimson weed  before flying close to the El Moros to inspect them. The El Moro parents like the Grog pair were alarmed and alert with feathers stretched to the skies, hopping war dances around each other. The young Moro appeared curious, then confused, then adopted the aggressive stance of his parents. The Grog Six remained unfazed.

Madre Moro flew south and her son obediently followed. El Moro took a parting jab in flight at a young Grog and his parents before rejoining his family. All the Grogs then relaxed but the El Moros were only regrouping. The three flew back into the fray. Sunshine Grog, fiercely protective of her six, challenged Ella Moro. They locked claws in circles in the air. If this combative display was meant to be instructional to their young, they didn't seem to notice.

Today, I hoped for peaceful play. I ran my usual route from north to south and the Grogs followed. The young raced ahead and joined Moro Uno in fabulous flights. There seem to be no borders acknowledged or lines drawn by the young. The cranky adults made a showy pretense of dominance while their young, nearly as big and strong as the parents, conquered the air with congeniality, brushing the blue sky with their wingbeats. 

  

Other raven update: Two Pipsqueaks, noticeably smaller than the three Jet young, out of the nest; two pink Inklings evident in nest with likelihood of more; the three Jumbo Jets, full and richly feathered appear to prefer their palm tree to airy pastures new.