But the Ouzel, born on the brink of a stream, or on a snag or boulder
in the midst of it, seldom leaves it for a single moment. For,
notwithstanding he is often on the wing, he never flies overland, but
whirs with, rapid, quail-like beat above the stream, tracing all its
windings. Even when the stream is quite small, say from five to ten feet
wide, he seldom shortens his flight by crossing a bend, however abrupt
it may be; and even when disturbed by meeting some one on the bank, he
prefers to fly over one's head, to dodging out over the ground. When,
therefore, his flight along a crooked stream is viewed endwise, it
appears most strikingly wavered--a description on the air of every curve
with lightning-like rapidity.
The vertical curves and angles of the most precipitous torrents he
traces with the same rigid fidelity, swooping down the inclines of
cascades, dropping sheer over dizzy falls amid the spray, and ascending
with the same fearlessness and ease, seldom seeking to lessen the
steepness of the acclivity by beginning to ascend before reaching the
base of the fall. No matter though it may be several hundred feet in
height he holds straight on, as if about to dash headlong into the
throng of booming rockets, then darts abruptly upward, and, after
alighting at the top of the precipice to rest a moment, proceeds to feed
and sing.
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