Dear You,
Even on a beautiful beach on Cape Cod, breakfast for the gulls is, at best, a beastly business.
The withdrawing waves leave a tide pool, in which silvery fish swim in circles, waiting for the next high tide to move them back to safer, deeper waters. This cycle has not escaped the notice of the gulls, however, and I watch as one hovers and swoops and lifts out a fish to deposit him on the sands, where he proceeds to hack the creature until finally it expires.
The gull is merciless. Great, bloody holes appear in the side of the fish, and with each slash the bird yanks out another hunk of sushi. He looks around for other gulls, meanwhile, knowing his prize could be snatched away if he isn’t ready to defend it. Now and then, another – stronger, perhaps older, certainly quicker – does just that. Screaming, the birds chase each other until the matter is settled.
No bird seems to finish the feast alone. At a point, the one is satisfied and leaves the carcass for the lesser birds to squabble over and finally finish. A bit of head and tail, some bones . . . little is left to represent that shining fish who a few minutes earlier was circling the shallows with his fellows.
Showing posts with label Cape Cod. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cape Cod. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, October 8, 2007
Fool's Paradise
Dear You,
I awoke today to a steady rain. Yesterday was cold and overcast as I prowled the Wareham Cranberry Festival, a cup of tepid coffee in hand. Today I may find myself on a train ride, bundled against the raw and looking out on dreary bogs as it chugs toward Sandwich.
Last week was mostly hot. I mean, "let's go for a ride in the car and turn on the air" sort of hot. This rented house in Brewster was poorly equipped for heat -- the little window air conditioner units were already in the closets.
In a note about travel, Emerson looked around at the sights and said he was unimpressed. One takes his giant with him wherever he goes, he observed. And here I am on Cape Cod to learn it is so. Uncomfortable bed (it sags), uncomfortable couches (nowhere to stretch out), uncomfortable toilet seat -- it's flimsy and shifts sideways! What a grouch I am, I think. I'm in a tourist mecca and yearn for home.
Perhaps around the next corner something will be revealed to make all this time and expense worthwhile. Perhaps on my gravestone someone will chisel: "He's still looking around the corner." Optimism, too, may be a fool's paradise.
I awoke today to a steady rain. Yesterday was cold and overcast as I prowled the Wareham Cranberry Festival, a cup of tepid coffee in hand. Today I may find myself on a train ride, bundled against the raw and looking out on dreary bogs as it chugs toward Sandwich.
Last week was mostly hot. I mean, "let's go for a ride in the car and turn on the air" sort of hot. This rented house in Brewster was poorly equipped for heat -- the little window air conditioner units were already in the closets.
In a note about travel, Emerson looked around at the sights and said he was unimpressed. One takes his giant with him wherever he goes, he observed. And here I am on Cape Cod to learn it is so. Uncomfortable bed (it sags), uncomfortable couches (nowhere to stretch out), uncomfortable toilet seat -- it's flimsy and shifts sideways! What a grouch I am, I think. I'm in a tourist mecca and yearn for home.
Perhaps around the next corner something will be revealed to make all this time and expense worthwhile. Perhaps on my gravestone someone will chisel: "He's still looking around the corner." Optimism, too, may be a fool's paradise.
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