So this is heaven, he thought, and he had to smile at himself. It was hardly

respectful to analyze heaven in the very moment that one flies up to enter it.

As he came from Earth now, above the clouds and in close formation with the two

brilliant gulls, he saw that his own body was growing as bright as theirs. True, the

same young Jonathan Seagull was there that had always lived behind his golden

eyes, but the outer form had changed.

It felt like a seagull body, but already it flew far better than his old one had ever

flown. Why, with half the effort, he thought, I'll get twice the speed, twice the

performance of my best days on Earth!

His feathers glowed brilliant white now, and his wings were smooth and perfect as

sheets of polished silver. He began, delightedly, to learn about them, to press

power into these new wings.

At two hundred fifty miles per hour he felt that he was nearing his level-flight

maximum speed. At two hundred seventy-three he thought that he was flying as fast

as he could fly, and he was ever so faintly disappointed. There was a limit to how

much the new body could do, and though it was much faster than his old level-flight

record, it was still a limit that would take great effort to crack. In heaven, he

thought, there should be no limits.

The clouds broke apart, his escorts called, "Happy landings, Jonathan," and

vanished into thin air.

He was flying over a sea, toward a jagged shoreline. A very few seagulls were

working the updrafts on the cliffs. Away off to the north, at the horizon itself, flew a

few others. New sights, new thoughts, new questions. Why so few gulls? Heaven

should be flocked with gulls! And why am I so tired, all at once? Gulls in heaven

are never supposed to be tired, or to sleep.

Where had he heard that? The memory of his life on Earth was falling away. Earth

had been a place where he had learned much, of course, but the details were

blurred - something about fighting for food, and being Outcast.

The dozen gulls by the shoreline came to meet him, none saying a word. He felt

only that he was welcome and that this was home. It had been a big day for him, a

day whose sunrise he no longer remembered.

He turned to land on the beach, beating his wings to stop an inch in the air, then

dropping lightly to the sand, The other gulls landed too, but not one of them so

much as flapped a feather. They swung into the wind, bright wings outstretched,

then somehow they changed the curve of their feathers until they had stopped in the

same instant their feet touched the ground. It was beautiful control, but now