The Seagull


    A gray-white seagull performs regularly outside my window.

    It soars and swoops and then plummets below the bluff.

    Sweeping back up, it glides effortlessly into the wind, wings quivering.

    Its freedom and grace give me joy.

    The other day I watched these aerobatics from my lawn.

    The gull breezed by bluff-high, pursuing the wind.

    Banking languidly, it rose racing skyward.

    I craned my neck to see the zenith and the following dive.

    At the nadir it gently banked again and flew close above.

    I could see the feathered underside and tiny tucked-in toes.

    But, in an instant, all went awry.

    SPLAAAT! I rushed inside to wipe my eye.

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