callow, defunct, infant, and white

He’s gone from this venue, but not defunct. He left some notes behind; musical notes, rather than the kind you’d find on little pieces of paper. You’ll hear them in the air, solitary, lingering at night on the beach. But please don’t go alone.
Featherless, unfledged, this callow bird took to the sky before he’d been weaned—like an infant, after hesitating first steps, being forced out the door to go to work as an adult—unsure, fearing to stumble, but determined to succeed; therefore earning the right of return, not as a babe in white, but wearing yellow and smiling.
Push, recall, and cheer; ponder your own success, but please don’t do it alone.