On Sunday mornings, as the dawn burned into day, swarms of gulls descended on the uncollected trash, hovering and dropping in the cold clear light.
Flight of my mind rises beneath the seagull’s wings …then ocean is my motherland I feel.
Gulls shriek plovers and sandpipers run up and down the beach. The tide is all the way out. The stone jetty from which people fish in the summer is covered with seals basking in the light.
