Chasing Gulls

They stood at the high tide line as if they were waiting for the
local ferry to transport them eastward. Eyes shifting from the breeze
carrying fine sand toward the water, their beaks shouted into the wind
as if in admonition of the unspeakable discomfort.

The standing line moved incrementally over time with occasional
emigration to the blue sky above, only to return from flight to the
same spot. Heads pivoting to recognize the sounds of shoreline and
determine intent, they spent their time in casual, though cautionary
loitering.

A child of five or so approached then, and feathers rustled in
anticipation of invaded privacy. She brushed her blond curls from her
eyes and stared on shifting feet at the feathered forms. Biting her
lip, she took a step closer and the line hopped backward in an
unrhythmic mambo, but held their ground. She repeated the movement
again with the same results. Laughing, her voice was carried like high,
musical notes across the beach. Bolting then from her singular game,
she dashed toward the line of gulls, arms outstretched, face wide open
to the sun. She could feel the sound of retreating wings splash against
the shadow they left on upturned sand.

Stopping only when the last gull had alighted she gazed at the symphony
of their flight.
Mouth grinning, arms still flying into the sky with them, her
expression dreamed itself into the sky in unison. Retreating down the
beach then, she did not see the return of the displaced gulls. Slowly
they returned to their positions, waiting patiently to fly away once
again from those who would be chasing gulls.