The other day was gorgeous, and I went to the lakefront, where I sat and watched the boats and the birds. There was a bit of a breeze, and the temperature dipped when the huge, fluffy clouds covered the sun.
I got caught up in the seagulls as they flapped awkwardly, looking like gangly teenagers with too-long-limbs, then suddenly transforming into things of grace as they soared. But the best part was keeping an eye on a bird until it circled, then suddenly plunged toward the surface of the water.
Most of the time, they’d emerge, a flash of silver in their beaks until, in a second, it was gone.
Now and again, they’d pull up right before they hit the water, arcing back toward the sky or plopping down and bobbing with the waves. I couldn’t be sure they didn’t know I was watching, that they weren’t, perhaps, giving me a show as they got their dinner.
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