I watch three herring gulls
Fly South into the wind
And they're losing ground,
Tumbling and righting themselves
In the shifting currents
Scouring the air.
It's not that they want
To migrate South
So much as not go North.
Something in the gull's hearts
Tells them to stay clear
Of Ketchikan, Skagway, and Nome.
---o0o---
