Salutation to the gull

Today after watching my baseball game I decided to take in the gorgeous day and go for a walk. It was the best sort of day one could hope for a Memorial Day; tempered by the threat of thunder and rain, but in the end showing its true face of clear sky, bright sunshine and cool breeze. There is something about the Damocles' Sword of forecast thunderstorms that makes the perfect day somehow more beautiful in its perfection.

My steps led me up the Salem Neck and over to the beach at Winter Island. I had not planned to visit the beach but was glad to find it my improvised destination. Before long I had stripped to my shorts and was scrambling over the rocks, bare feet finding their grip on pitted volcanic rock covered with barnacles and strewn-about black seaweed. Finally I set my station upon a singular boulder and sat and watched for the better part of two hours, absorbing the sun, the sights, the smells, and the sounds. I watched a group of men fishing on a nearby outpost of rocks. I watched the sea move and sway, so blue-green it was almost turquoise in some spots. I watched sailing ships and yachts of all forms come in and out of Salem Harbor, venturing out to dance between the waves. And I watched the gulls.

God, if you are listening and if reincarnation is an option I want to come back as a seagull. Is there a happier existence in all of Creation than that of a gull, circling and pinwheeling in the air, the sea wind tearing through your wings and holding you aloft? For all the years of my life I have looked down at gulls as filthy, annoying, base creatures and today for the first time I found myself wondering if I was simply jealous.

Oh, to live the life of a gull, sacrificing avian beauty for a raucous charm and vulgar grace. The gull forsakes the need to stand out in a crowd. He knows he is an independent and unique creature, but has no desire to be noticed or to be picked out as special from the rest of the flock. How he must pity the self-conscious peacock and swan who depend solely on their preening, shining feathers and serpentine necks. The gull shits where he sleeps, eats every kind of carrion and refuse, and looks every bit the ruffian he is, but he never shows that he is anything but content with who and what he is.

He is an oppurtunist, a showman, a rogue, a thief, and an adventurer. He is a skilled hunter, a clever scavenger, and an eager beggar. He is savvy and adaptable, equally at home in the bustle and noise of the city and the lonely seashore. He is both selfish and courageous, able to beat out all contention for a scrap of meat or work towards a common goal. I have watched gulls bully pipers and shorebirds only to turn around and divebomb a hawk to help a stricken brother.

And so I say to the gull, Brother of the Sea and Sky, I envy you and your life of free-spirited contentment. You have my respect to the end and never again shall an insult directed to you fall from my lips. I look forward to the day when I might join you, breathing in the salt air, seeking my sustenance from the sea, testing my feathered frame against the might of the sky and filling the world with noisy kee-aws.