The Wolfku Garden - 8

The seagull through fog
Silent, airy, wing—wing steps
Fainter, into white

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Another foggy morning. Not that the seagulls care. Or perhaps they do.

Usually, though, you’d see them from afar—winged artists of wind and current. Quite often I’d not only see them sail above me, but beside me and even below me, for I’m walking along a bluff about thirty feet above the sandy beach below (and further out the ocean), and the gulls, gliding twenty-five feet about the sand glide five feet below me. It’s a wonderful sight, that, for not only does it give you a close-up of beak and eye, but also a real sense of their size on the wing, a three-feet span I’d guess.

Yes, usually, you’d see the gulls from afar, either shooting up into the air from the beach below, or just riding high on some up-draft or surfing on a strong wind. This morning though, in the dense fog, what gulls I saw appeared out of a milky nowhere and only flashed by or above me for a breath or two, before disappearing back into the fog—this particular one slowly, gradually, growing mistier and mistier, fainter and fainter, until the undisturbed white of the fog was restored, leaving no gull-traces at all.

From nothing: emerging gull, gull, fading back into nothing.

There’s a lesson here somewhere.