A Wing and Prayer

It really is the little things -and an active imagination- that get me through most days. For instance, I pass through a city park on the way to my morning crossing guard shift. The park is usually shrouded in mist, still and quite in the early post-dawn hours . That is, until I get to the soccer field at its center. The field is usually covered in sea gulls. We live pretty far inland, but there are waterways all around, and I presume the sea gulls come from these. I seldom see them elsewhere, but unaccountably, they flit across the grass of the field, running or wheeling about in huge numbers in the dim gray light.

Instantly the idea pops into my head that they are involved in a match, a secret match between the gulls and the ravens I notice as I draw closer, representatives of sea and land, locked in sportsmen-like battle. Initially, the dark plumage of the ravens made them invisible in the low light of the field, but as I see them, I realize I've been hearing their cries from the moment I entered the park. Perhaps they aren't doing well in the game, or perhaps their cawing is a diversionary tactic, intended to intimidate their opponents. The gulls, larger and more graceful on the wing, utter an occasional squawk in reply, but they seem steadier, more confident in their maneuvering. Birds from both groups sit or stand in silence on the edges of the field like feathered spectators, their attention bent on the activities in the center. As I look more closely, I see that there are a few smaller birds in the throng, referees, perhaps. They dart about, making sure everyone plays by the rules.

I roll past on my bike with this image in my head and a slight smile on my face. I think the gulls are winning. Today will be a good day.