Of course, my favorite birds (as I wrote about before) are the little plovers which move as if in a ballet chorus, but I watch the other groups of birds also. The Cormorants are not as pretty, but they also have a rythym to their movements. The black crows are there making their presence known by their loud squawking and aerial acrobatics. But the bird that find very mysterious is the lone Seagull.
Usually I find seagulls, especially annoying. They are like robber-barons waiting for the opportune moment to take advantage of someone or something vulnerable. They rip food out of other birds' claws and eat any kind of garbage they can find. I've even seen them take a hotdog out of a child's hands as he was eating it, leaving the poor boy crying in astonishment. It seems they are constantly on the offensive, asserting their power.
This month, however, I saw seagulls in a different light. I saw them as individuals, as somewhat regal, noble birds. I tried taking photographs, but they were often illusive. I saw a lone seagull standing very quietly, looking pensively at the sea, turning his head occasionally to watch me as I looked at him. Just when I thought I could capture his image, he turned away snobbishly and flew over the waves as if to defy me.
As I kept walking slowly along the shore attempting to get close enough for a photograph, I was reminded of my father's story he told me when I was a child.
My father often liked to walk on the beach although he never took me with. He also liked to write poetry and tell stories, but he did tell me a story about Gimpy, the one-legged seagull he befriended on the beach. He said that the Seagull would talk to him. Of course when I was only 8 or 10, I didn't believe him, but later in high school, I thought his story worthy enough to tell to my class in Advanced Composition class.
Unfortunately, I have forgotten the gist of the story. I remember the story left an impression on me, and when I found the copy I had written long ago, I knew I wanted to keep it, so I must have put it somewhere for safekeeping. Now I cannot find the paper I had written. I feel very sad that his story will be lost.
He had also written a lot of poetry in high school and I remember seeing a notebook with his poems, but alas it is also gone. Possibly he took it with him when my parents separated, or maybe my mother threw it out, but I do want people to know this other side of my father--that he was creative and was able to express himself well.
And this writing all came about because of my encounter with a seagull--maybe they do talk to us after all.
Thank-you. (And maybe, I will find that paper I wrote about "Gimpy" one of these days again.)
