Monday, February 25, 2013

squabble

The last tide had been so high, driftwood confetti lay in an undulating line along the walkway, as far as the eye could see.
The roaring sea was mist and spray and foam.
The wind seemed to push us down to the waters edge.
I pulled a plastic bag from my pocket and holding it aloft, allowed the wind to open it.
The air above me was suddenly, magically filled with gulls.
They hovered and dipped just beyond my outstretched hands, their sharp, dark eyes fixed upon my fluttering white shopping bag.
It was like a scene from Birds.
It was as though every gull above White Rock had drawn a bead on my bag.
"Mine, mine, mine." they screamed.
A squabble of seagulls.

1 comment:

Down by the sea said...

Your words about the sea are beautiful. Thank you for the suggestion about Guttenberg Press. Sarah x