Issue Three: Resistance Isn’t Futile

Wind whips the cliff, lifting her tail feathers. She shifts position. Beak dips, a stay against rolling, moving carefully over both luminous eggs, short chest feathers brushing shell.

Light quickens long, against wind cold rushing, rain lashing, dull grey sky, like short light but without end. Brief moments of stillness and heat in the early light, ideal fishing weather, spent perching, pinched in against granite, feet on shit. Waiting.

Sky full of white wings and cries of ‘kittee-wa-aaak’, as egg-sitting birds greet their mate returning from deep blue. Call taken up by nearby pairs, spreads throughout colony. Gul pairs shuffle places. In one wingspread before take-off, two shimmering eggs glint in shot of bright. 

Waiting for him to return, dozing, scanning sky full of wings beating in wind. Stomach empty.

Several nest ledges over, two speckled eggs set within mud and seaweed lay bared, both egg-parents out foraging sandeels.

Glint of golden beak, flashes of crisp grey and black amongst white feathers, his wings beat in usual long stroke. He pulls his wings back, gripping mud with his talons, lands. He leans in, nuzzling his malar to hers, she reciprocates. Stomach grumbling, she steps off nest, flapping hard into head wind. Others leave, together flight, open ocean.

Wings stretch, beat hard down into gusts. Extending wing blades, tension releases, legs light pulled in, a rush of joy. 

Ocean surface is frothy, spitting back at driving wind. A sliver of silver, she plunges, stabs into empty, silver slips deep. Wings push against water, she rises, flying over ruffling surface. Larger guls high dive, glinting silvers dangle from beaks when they surface. They catch sandeels out of her reach. Light dips beneath ocean, she settles on surface.