I'm on a short vacation at Long Beach, Washington. I put some words on the page, but the thing I liked best besides spending some quality time with my favorite person was getting away and getting out. Intense, icy wind, clear skies and brilliant sunshine followed by wild clouds and bursts of rain. The air, though heavy with ocean spray, tastes pure and lifts my spirits. I ate really fresh sea food that tastes clean with no fish breath followup. I even got in a little bird-watching.
Speaking of which, strangely, I haven't heard any gulls crying. I've seen a few, here and there, but apparently this isn't their time to hang out in vast flocks and chatter. The few I have seen were busy sailing on those fierce winds. The remains of one made a pathetic but beautiful shape half-buried in the sand. I found a flight feather farther down the beach from a different (presumably living) gull all worn from overuse. I took it back with me and washed it, then blew it dry. It's tattered but that only makes it more fascinating. The feathering is stiffer than on most feathers I've collected. Maybe it helps the gulls fly in wilder winds than their more land-loving kin.
People like me who play with feathers know that a little preening a flight feather makes the feathering lock into a neat row. It's as satisfying to me as putting a puzzle together, and takes a lot less time. I wonder how many people bother to do it when they pick a feather off the ground.
No seashells this trip, but I got sand in my shoes and in my eyes and my hair blew wild and it's been glorious. I wish I could stay another night. And another, and another ….