Gift of a seagull

It’s the middle of August and I’m somewhere in Arizona.
Driving and driving I see a patch of white on black.
Unusual it seems. I’m curious.
I venture toward the white mass.
A mirage? I am alone.

As I get near, I slowly approach what appears to be a flock, no, a swarm of seagulls.
Where did they come from?
There is no ocean, no lake, no water that I can see.
Yet, they huddle and they scatter en masse and apart. Searching, searching.

I slowly open the door. Oh, I stop. They seem nervous and so am I.
One foot out, okay so far. Next foot out. Silence.
Stillness overwhelms.
I must capture this for no one will believe me.
Slowly I reach for my camera.
Glancing back and forth like a bird, watching, watching.

I adjust the camera’s settings and step away from the opened door, but not closing it.
Slowly and silently I inch my way to the center.
Birds cluster and squawk, like they know a secret. What secret?
They scurry about my feet ever so quickly.
Nearer, I come into the center of the mass, lifting the camera to my eye.
I focus.

Keow keow keow, I call out, jumping high into the air.
As one, birds take flight, scattering afar. Back again. They swirl about, twirling in unison.
Circling, circling. Frantic hysteria abounds.
Stillness overcomes me as the shutter clicks. Click, click, click.
Silence is deafly.

Fluttering wings, maddening, intense. Lifting my hair as they encircle me. Spiraling.
Spiraling upwards like a funnel the seagulls fly higher and higher into the sky.
Gone.

Exhilarated, I turn to go.
My eyes capture the silent movement in panavision.
A light dusting of feathers surround me as in a snowdrift.
I look up, nothing. Blue sky everywhere.

Then it came.

Down, down it floats like a single snowflake.
One, single feather gently comes to rest in my outreached hand.

Enough. Enough now.