#7

When the snow finally stopped pouring from the sky, it continued to move about horizontally now and then with the wind gusts. Besides an occasional howl, all was quiet, the way it always is after a hard snow collapses the outside world’s activities. I took this opportunity to look out the window. I could differentiate the sky from the ground for the first time in two days, and I admired how winter storms paint still lives. Still, that is, until the flapping wings of a struggling seagull entered the frame. First one, then another. Moving sideways, swinging against their will like puppets on strings. Strange, I thought, that the first sign of life after two days are seagulls. The lake is over ten miles from here, and the only time seagulls come this far inland is on garbage day, which would have been yesterday, if it weren’t for the storm. Poor birds must have their days of the week all scrambled. I thought about leaving some food scraps out on the lawn for them, but given the gusts blowing them off course, I thought it too cruel to give them a target they might be unable to reach.