Dawn. A gull flies sideways below lowering clouds. The silhouette of a small cat appears on the wall behind the neighbor’s bird feeder.
The first morning of our first true heat wave of the year. Dozens of gulls circle high overhead, black-tipped wings like translucent blades.
Far above the usual noise of the builders, two rusty hinges squeak and whine: two gulls, an adult and a juvenile, wings opening and opening.
Over the rumbling of an oil truck, the cry of a gull far from the sea. I go to the edge of the porch and look: a V of gulls heading west.