It appeared to be a regular morning. We set off early on a shiny bus towards the promise of a morning of falconry. I have always loved animals, birds included. The bus warmed us from the brisk outdoors. It was a pleasant ride filled with political conversations, a tour guide with a soothing voice, and a short nap. Through my tired eyes I noticed that our bus was traveling uphill. I was too tired to recognize what was occurring right before me, so I drifted back to sleep. We arrived at our falconry location and I took three timid steps out of the bus. I was suddenly hit by a force I had never experienced before. I was nearly swept off my feet by a gust of wind so strong I could see it in front of my eyes. I continued to make my way out of the bus, fighting through gust after gust that threatened to levitate me. I spotted our falconry instructor and fought my way up the hill to meet him. He started by showing us three different owls. I was amazed to see that these birds were more than comfortable in this typhoon going on around. I grabbed onto Henry DuBeau out of fear of being blown away, drifting off towards the endless Irish countryside. As the day continued, the wind did not relent. It continued to abuse me with it’s endless tug and pull of my body. I was suffocated by it, I was surrounded by it, and as I struggled to watch the birds I found that I was beginning to get used to it. I became accustomed to being shoved around by an invisible force and actually began to find it entertaining. By the end of the day I had developed a connection to the birds, both in their complexity, but also their love of the wind.