Aug
17
Something I wrote in college that I forgot I wrote and it surprised me and I put it here so I can find it again… in case I forget
It begins with an awkward burst, the wings unfolding from the body, the legs leaning against inertia. The seagull half runs, half hops, it wings bent and beating furiously. The process is frantic, a flurry of feather edge and gray, a squawk and a jump. And then, amidst the accelerating palimpsest, the gray and white scribble, something new emerges. Something superimposes itself. It is as though the bird is already flying, always flying, and the seagull simply jumps to catch the rungs. It runs, it crossfades into something else, it sprints off the crest of the hill into the empty air.
