I watch the seagulls flock around you,
awaiting your chase, they love you
with their teasing, and with ungull-like patience
accommodate your impulsive joy.
They ignore the tidbits flung by others;
squander their chances
to get their fill. In this moment
they feed on your delight, and sound
their satisfaction with raucous
Your toddling dance at an end,
the feathered clowns, in a flurry
of beating wings, take off for the blue-green sea.
Catching the changeable currents of air,
their clumsy retreat is transformed
to winged grace. With focused, inerrant eyes,
they search and follow where instinct leads.
Their brushed-grey wings
cast wavy reflections
on the undulant sea. Pewter figurines,
come to life, they soar above the wake
of unsuspecting fish that move along
well-traveled lanes beneath the white-capped
swells. Ignorant of the hungry gulls,
they are scooped and swallowed, prey
in the practiced cycle of life and death.
And I follow you, barely able
to keep up with your steps.
And I know that in your youth
you will always be ahead.
In your life you will walk paths
crooked and straight, progressing
through the narrow alleys
and wider avenues of time.
You will be guarded and surrounded,
protected with love. The life you live
will be your own. Yet I will follow,
feel the intractable pain,
and know the exquisite joy
of your beautiful dance;
leaving, returning, leaving again –
each step of your choosing,
My Gentle Readers, I wish you the peace, joy, love – the abundance of enough. . .