The beach is more crowded than it has ever been. We spend our time in a long line, gliding
over the asphalt, our wings almost touching, searching for that tasty parking
spot. Waiting and watching, avoiding
that Stingray, ignoring that old, lumbering Barracuda.
Around and around, until we finally spot one. Then, from a great distance, we plunge
face-first into the cold vacancy.
Smiling, our hunger satisfied, we rest our wings and quietly bob with
the waves. The sound of someone’s boombox crashes over the rhythm of the ocean while a sharp scent of salty sunblock drifts past. It is no day at the beach.
1 comment:
In honor of the day, a limerick written by Dixon Lanier Merritt in 1910: A wonderful bird is the pelican. His bill will hold more than his belican. He can take in his beak, Food enough for a week, I'm damned if I know how the hell he can!" (Had to do it:))
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