there's nothing like kicking back after a long day at work, battling through the dense smog that just sticks to your skin. but finally, dusk comes and the air begins to cool. the breeze dances through your hair. ah, relaxation. there's nothing like it. it's strange how kicking back on the patio seems so much more productive than passing out in front of the predictible programming that is supposed to serve as entertainment these days.
it's then i notice something strange.
sea gulls.
tons and tons of sea gulls.
they're circling, they're swooping, they're diving.
think the birds, but with white sea birds as opposed to black crows. wait, was it crows in that movie? they were rather mesmerizing though. they were flying willy-nilly. i can't help but look up ... but ... but ...
i can't even type it! the dangers of looking up, they're unspeakable. best described by an onomatopoeia - *plop*
but don't worry, your fearless heroine was not a victim of the bird droppings. they tried their best, but she was too quick - either that, and more probably, or their aim was not so good.
we finally figured out what was causing the birds to swirl. it seemed quite odd that they were around - we aren't particularly close to the water or any huge piles of refuse. it's the bugs. the big huge bugs. the gulls were hunting them. picking them off. eating them up. it's amazing to see how nature works.
*rereads story*
yep ... i do need to practice writing more. too lazy to edit now though.
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2 comments:
Sweet merciful crap, have I got a story for you.
I was clear water beach in Tampa Bay. I was eating an Ice Cream bar and walking down the shore with my wife. I heard the familier craw.
I look left, right! And nothing... I kept walking and then I heard again! I spun my head, mouth full of 'sicle, and still... nothing.
Ever focused on finsihing my treat before the heat finished it for me, I notice that I hadn't noticed my wife make a break for it. I look over my shoulder and I was eye to beak with a gull. Several, acctually. Several hundred, acctually.
I run.
I run left, right, up, down, dodge and deke to no avail. For wasever possesment, the gulls were bent on my ice cream bar. They take no notice to others on the beach. But other certainly take notice to me, a raging and ever growing population of hysterics. I was not ammused.
There was no escape and the hoarde was multiplying as fast as the sidelined chuckles. I quickly spotted a refuge however. The clear water beach scape it dotted with permanent domes not unlike, an opera shell. I run straight at it, as the gulls close the gap. I dive in, and the gulls in their idiocy continue flying over head, and over shoot their target, me. In their feeble minds I'm sure I disappeared to them.
As the remainder of the flock flew past, I swear I heard one say.
"So... what are we flying at?"
To which I heard the reply,
"Flying at!? I thought this was the line up for the Hitchcock signing!"
Wow! We should start a support group.
I would've thought a leatherman would chomp right through a hook.
And my personal fav nickname... shithawk.
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