There was this moment. I was walking along the beach and saw a swarm of them. Maybe fifty. Hovering, swooping, fighting. At the epicenter was a man in a faded, threadbare t-shirt that said “Jose’s fishing trips”, kneeling in the sand with a knife knuckle deep in a fish’s gills. He was filleting it with quick, expert slashes and throwing the rest to the birds. I sat next to him, surrounded by the insane flurry overhead, feeling the wing beats of these dinosaurs on my face, staring at those pin-sharp beaks feeling lucky not to be a scrap of fish.
FrigatesIn Uncategorized on January 7, 2014 at 10:42 am