The gulls were in town meeting again today, with the skitterers mingling inconspicuously. I wonder what they discuss and how they vote. There are nearly always an even number in a group, although the brown ones tend to disappear with convincing camouflage into the stones when that’s their meeting place, and I may sometimes miss counting them.
This convention was making its headquarters at the edge of the tide. They mostly face in one direction, but not all and not always. Hm, maybe it was a caucus. Which party? The conservation party? Or were they conversing? Conservation conversation. I could hardly type that. Saying it would be even trickier! Ah, the “s” and the “v” change places. Well, I’m still a linguist…
I’ve never thought of myself as much of a naturalist, or that observant of “wildlife.” The water slows me down, though.
On the way back up the beach staircase, I stopped to talk with a couple visiting from Britain. Portsmouth. Much colder than here, they said! We talked about jobs and travel and restaurants and I almost asked them over to eat dinner at our house. They are staying at the hotel across the street. I was worried they wouldn’t know how to say no if they didn’t want to; I was worried I wouldn’t be relaxed enough to suddenly have two more, strangers at that, at dinner; I was worried they might be axe murderers (Kate?!) When I got home, I was disappointed that I hadn’t asked them anyway. An opportunity lost. Next time, I shall just do it.