The sand on the beach below was lighter than the sand on the dune that sloped down, as if the sand that made up the dune was damp, the sand of the beach dry. This seemed unlikely, but she didn’t know why else it would be.
A seagull flew up from the beach, pumping its wings, and came within a few feet of her, wheeling overhead then circling around behind her to glide back down to the beach again. The flight up had looked pointless. The gull had obviously been working hard, and to what end? No food in mid-air.
But then there had been the glide, and she thought that probably made the effort worthwhile.
There were some smaller birds as well, darker than the off-white and gray gulls, and they flapped small dark wings very quickly, obviously trying to get somewhere as quickly as they could.
Another gull rose flapping up from the beach about fifty feet, about to her eye level, turned slightly into the breeze and floated motionless for what seemed like minutes. Wind, weight and wings combined in that moment to suspend the bird in the air with no effort at all.
That must be, she thought, nirvana for a bird.
Yes, part of her was always here. That was one of the good things about being dead. You could be wherever you wanted.
I was inspired to post this by this post on The Everyday Epic. When I wrote it I had no idea who the character was or anything about her. Now I do.
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