The Harsh Truth No One Tells You About Living on This Bitter Earth

We were just walking on the beach when I saw her. She’d dug a hole in the sand. Not so much a hole as a bowl. A shallow little bowl, scrabbled out in the sand by tiny birdy footprints. There she sat, in her little bowl. A nest? Behind me, I hear my child. Mom, it’s bleeding I turn and our eyes meet. I move to the same vantage point and see it too. Bright crimson seeping and creeping up the snowy white of her feathers. Oh no, I whisper. Slowly, I kneel in the sand beside her. She doesn’t move but sits, utterly still. Who knew a seagull’s eyes were so beautiful? Like onyx or black opal. Glittering little gems watching me. I’m sorry your life ends like this, I whisper. Injured, bleeding and alone. I hope you had many glorious days with the sunshine warm on your back and the wind beneath your wings. She watches me silently, tiny chest rising and falling. She is a being, not so different than me, with a heart that beats not unlike mine and we crouch in the sand, me and my child, unlikely companions to the sad and random ending of another being. I don’t know how long we sit like that. Forever, it seems, and yet not nearly long enough as the sun moves slowly across the sky and the shadows on the sand grow longer and leaner. Finally, the little bird sighs, chest rising. She shudders, feathers ruffling. Then she turns her head and looks away. <a href="https://medium.com/the-narrative-arc/the-harsh-truth-no-one-tells-you-about-living-on-this-bitter-earth-57b13ba75502">Read More</a>