“Gulls”
Sep 17, 2019There’s a gull carrying a fish in its mouth. A second gull follows the first. Their wings are spread wide and they hover in the air. The wind holds them up but also keeps them from moving forward. A moving picture. The second gull will never catch up to his friend. If he ever does, the tasty fish will be long gone.
A third gull sits on a plank railing at the corner of the small park. The wind rustles the leaves in the trees. It is the end of summer. The sun still shines but nature is starting to pack up and head inside for the winter. The marshes are turning brown, the leaves in the trees turning yellow and red. The wind chops the bay water slap slap slap against the dock. A few boats float quietly, unused by their owners. The sail on the Serenissima hasn’t been raised in weeks.
The occasional car or motorcycle gets to the end of the street and stops at the DEAD END sign. Most turn around in frustration and head back to the main road. A couple people get out of their cars, walk to the end of the dock, stare at the water for a moment, and head back.
More gulls float around the small dock. Some land on wooden posts and perch for a quick rest. Others land on the small motorboats and peer down into the swaying water, looking for food. The sound of cawing is heard on the other side of the bay where the trees appear still and quiet.
The gull sitting at the corner of the park decides it has been sitting in gull shit long enough. It responds to the call of a group of gulls floating on the water. It stands and its feathers ruffle. With little effort, it opens its wings wide and the wind lifts it off the ground. In a smooth motion, the gull is pulled backward, turns its head like a rudder, and turns itself forward. Slow flaps of its wings and it catches up with its friends as quickly as it took off. It lands in the water, now just a small white speck off in the distance, and the group float around buoys, the current slowly taking them out to the Atlantic.