The Circular Thoughts of a Dying Herring Gull

Weighed down by water isn’t too bad. Sun or a shake dries you out and it drips off in the air any­way, but snow and ice and frozen feath­ers will drag you down, keep you groun­ded and no shak­ing helps. Try too hard and the feath­ers snap. A bald bird is no bird and a bald bird dies in the snow and ice.

So you wait for the thaw but the sun doesn’t come in the middle of winter, just dark clouds and fog banks and the bright but weak light of a burn­ing star that’s too dis­tant to help. You wouldn’t think that a slight wobble in an orbit or a few extra miles of atmo­sphere would weaken an incom­pre­hens­ibly big ball of gas and plasma and heat and light, but I’m always amazed by the dif­fer­ence fifty feet make, when the ground drops from above the snow line to below and turns from white and crisp to green and wet.

Maybe that’s the answer, strug­gling down and rolling in the dew and shel­ter­ing where the snow gently fall­ing speeds up and plum­mets as a drop. Because being weighed down by water isn’t too bad. Sun or a shake dries you out and it drips off in the air any­way, but snow and ice and frozen feathers…

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2 thoughts on “The Circular Thoughts of a Dying Herring Gull

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