We woke up on Saturday morning to white roofs from our window and trees bending in the wind. In the distance, on the other side of the city, the hills of the peninsula were white against the dark green hedgerows. After drinking plenty of coffee, we wrapped up in our winter clothes and drove to the beach through quiet streets. Dark windows. Slate gray sea. Cold sand. Wet rocks.
On previous visits to the beach, we've discovered (okay, I've discovered) how easy it is to torture seagulls by just staying in the car and waving food at them. It drives them crazy. Cheap kicks. Actually: kicks for exactly the cost of one pie. Three dollar kicks. They hover above the hood of the car in the sea wind, dropping low, fighting sudden gusts of wind, dipping, correcting, rising again, wings flapping, to take a closer look at your pie/chips/cake. And then they return to their railing, humbled and a little sheepish in the wind.
But on Saturday morning, they were grounded. Perched grimly on the railing, backs to the sea, staring impassively at my lamb and potato pie. Earthbound. Stoic. It was far too cold to be airborne.
Wait a minute ... seagull. Seagull. Now, that's a good name for a boy. (ck)
On previous visits to the beach, we've discovered (okay, I've discovered) how easy it is to torture seagulls by just staying in the car and waving food at them. It drives them crazy. Cheap kicks. Actually: kicks for exactly the cost of one pie. Three dollar kicks. They hover above the hood of the car in the sea wind, dropping low, fighting sudden gusts of wind, dipping, correcting, rising again, wings flapping, to take a closer look at your pie/chips/cake. And then they return to their railing, humbled and a little sheepish in the wind.
But on Saturday morning, they were grounded. Perched grimly on the railing, backs to the sea, staring impassively at my lamb and potato pie. Earthbound. Stoic. It was far too cold to be airborne.
Wait a minute ... seagull. Seagull. Now, that's a good name for a boy. (ck)
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