death and the seagull

DSC_4267, originally uploaded by Dru Marland.

The first flight of swifts curved over the gardens, then burst into five directions. Two of them whizzed close over my head, the beat of their wings shushing like little Coronation Scots.

The city's blackbirds sang a backing track to the woodpigeon's latest song, the Too Stewed Blues. To be honest, it sounded quite similar to its last song. There were occasional quarrels from the magpies, and two crows tumbled over, squabbling as they went.

Angry Seagull just stood there, idly adjusting his feathers. Two days ago he'd have been flying at my head, making a damn nuisance of himself. But then Irritating Little Seagull fell into the road.

Angry Seagull went into a frenzy of divebombing anyone who ventured out, especially if they had a dog.

"Someone's called the Council," said the postie as he scurried by, waving his hat.

"I hope they kill the bugger," I replied.

Mandy from over the road put out some water and some meat. Sharon said that they'd been wondering how to get it back on the roof. I reckoned that Garden Fox would deal with the Seagull Question before the next morning.

And so, it seems, it has.