Soaring with the Gulls

Those gulls - soaring, calling - they seem happy. They flap their wings, dancing on currents, enjoying the scalding winds that brush across their faces. I wish I can be one of them, soaring and calling too.

Against tides of crimson, they play. The clouds drift by as the sun spills brilliance above the sea, across the waters. Joyfully, they play.

How do we describe those powerful voices, those voices that sing of freedom? Are they 'caws', 'cries', 'chirps','squawks' or 'squeals'? I wish that there is a word that can encapsulate the voices of the soaring seagulls. Their voices resonate with the power of the sea.

I imagine myself turning into a gull - flesh melting into feathers, mouth sharpening into a beak, wings soaring, flying with a wild abandonment. A gull, crying with pleasure.

How wonderful it must be, to soar, to soar in a sky without limits! How inspiring, how uplifting!

Then, thoughts of gulls fighting over food and shitting all over the streets came into my mind. The magic of the moment was abruptly lost.