The Anchovies Are In

The pelicans have stopped feeding; they're black dots scattered on the ocean, some in clumps of a hundred or so, some floating individually on the water. The seagulls are the only things that are still flying, squawking--here at my feet are flocks of them, closer than usual and agitated.

Pelicans everywhere. Their flight makes my scapula itch, makes me roll my shoulders in solidarity with their wide primeval wings. They dive straight down into the black mass of floating birds. It's a wonder that no one gets sliced to pieces. Everything calms down for a few minutes. Then an invisible signal passes through the current and everyone takes off for another meal.