The first wave of bombers took me by surprise and I didn’t have time to be afraid. The second wave? That’s a different story.
The seagulls veered around me, but not before I envisioned them attacking me as if I were an extra in the classic 1963 horror-suspense movie, “The Birds.”
I’m not sure why seagulls have such disdain for me. I’ve never harmed one of them. I’ve fed them. I talk to them when they’re down. Yet, they insist on harassing me.
I thought for a second I was going to have to turn one of them around with my walking stick like Mickey Mantle laying ash on a Don Drysdale fastball. I doubt my defense would’ve held up in court.
“Not guilty, your honor. Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3. “…a time to every purpose under heaven. I thought it was time to knock the feathers off those sky rats.”
“Guilty, Mr. Bum. Time for you pay a fine and spend a week or two in the slammer.”
“But, your honor, I would have given them time to heal.”
“Get him out of my courtroom.”
Cha-chink. Scuffing of sandal heels across the floor. “In the name of Alfred Hitchcock, I curse thee…”
In all seriousness, the passing of two “waves” of gulls so near to me was surreal. Like nature was a movie and I was wearing 3-D goggles. Spiritual.
“The Byrds” version of “Mr. Tamborine Man” came to mind as I slopped through the surf immediately afterwards. Then I thought of their version of “Turn! Turn! Turn!” and, of course, I couldn’t think of that song without remembering Pete Seeger, who died in late January.
He was an extraordinary man. A writer of timeless music. A civil right’s activist. An environmentalist. A lover of nature. Pete once said, “I think God is everything. Whenever I open my eyes I’m looking at God. Whenever I’m listening to something I’m listening to God.”
That brings me full circle in this blog. There’s still time for peace, seagulls. I swear it’s not too late.