Freedom Flyers

Confined to land and water, the penguin is nevertheless free.

Biting relentless wind, sweeping old and new snow across the vast expanse. An uninhabited, desolate, inhospitable world, dry as a desert despite all the ice and snow. In the distance, a bird, or so say the ornithologists, totters across the bleak and blustery landscape. Flightless, colourless, motionless: the humble penguin. Waddling slowly, sometimes hopping, sometimes sliding awkwardly, its huge belly a makeshift sled.

Its distant cousins soar high above—twisting, turning, unrestricted—as the unassuming penguin moves slowly to stand in large huddles, colonies. Rotating positions, the penguins offer mutual protection against the cold biting wind, an environment hostile to shelter or nests. Feathered yet unable to fly, the wings of the penguin hang uselessly against its sides, earthbound, captive. Absurd, comically large flat feet waddle carefully, eggs balanced gently beneath a fold of protective skin and feathers.

Females entrust their future offspring to the care of the male parent, then waddle slowly, resolutely, back to the sea. Diving in fearlessly, at times from great heights, a transformation is unveiled. These flightless, shuffling, great blobs with pathetic wings suddenly become agile, sleek and swift creatures of the sea. Twisting, turning, diving, soaring through the water at fantastic speeds, they loop, spin, roll lazily, glide, and dive to breathtaking depths. Their agility vital when confronted with predators or prey, these blubber bullets with almost magical feathers register virtually zero resistance or drag. Their view of the world vast as the ocean, they watch, listen, and whirl at will.

One ridiculously flat foot in the sea, the other on hard unforgiving ice, at home in both worlds, rejecting neither but knowing its sustenance comes from the deep. Springing high, clambering up frozen cliffs to dive back into the depths, it practices joy, unbounded. Then, the penguin shuffles slowly back to its hungry chicks and the colony; response to a deep inward call to nurture its offspring through the hostile cold. Knowing the long season of snow and ice and sky above the sea is but a necessary glimpse of time before it returns to its world of unrestricted movement, exhilaration, anticipation. Living fully the purpose for which it was made, whether on land or sea, the penguin is free.

Text: K. Earl Friesen