Release the Gulls

Early Saturday morning,
as the sun was just clearing
the tree line over Long Island,
my dog and I crested the rise
above our beach
in South Blue Hill.
Below us
at the forward most point
where two strips of sand
come together
in an upside-down vee
jutting out into Blue Hill Bay,
a flock of sea gulls,
fifty or more,
had banded together against the wind
to soak up the winter sunshine.

I released the dog
for his usual meadow romp.
The rush of his body
through frozen field grass
set the gulls to flight.
They arose, as one,
then split into two bands of wings
beating in a frenzy of escape,
breaking the unity of the whole.

The instinct to unite
is strong.
It holds marriages together
to silver-wedding status
long past their instinctive ends.

Why this mindless prostitution
Of self?
We measure out priceless days
in frozen dinners
and processed mac and cheese,
do our dirty laundry,
pay the bills,
and tune each other out
as we tune into
the nightly news.
We sleep in beds
without headboards for anchor,
and fill the buildings
we call home
with yard-sale remnants
from the broken bands
of others.

It’s time to move on now,
release the gulls,
feed the self
with honesty.