Seagull day

Yesterday morning the sky was grey and there was a feeling of storm in the air. I opened the door and the dog said, “I’m not sure about this. You know how much I hate rain. Can we stay close to home?”
I agreed. It was the kind of day where you can smell the seaweed. Mackerel Sky, mackerel sky, not long wet and not long dry. Fish scales in the clouds.

I wondered what day it was. There was no one at home so it couldn’t be a Saturday or Sunday but a weekend felt close. Keeping track of days has become tricky. If the day before had been blackbird day I wondered what bird day this would be. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.

Some days, when there’s a storm at sea and the air smells of fish the sky is filled with squawking and flapping grey wings. This doesn’t happen often. Our dawn chorus isn’t full of  the laughing, barking and cackling that you get at proper seaside towns. Gulls are loud at 3am.

Yesterday was seagull day.

They were everywhere; floating, like tissues tossed in the breeze. Warning of impending doom; the trapped souls of sailors, screaming and swooping.

We stayed close to home, walking along the sea wall, through the park, along the footpaths and into town. The dog hid behind a bollard as we passed the Emporium, “We can’t walk past,” he said, “They love me in there. They give me biscuits.” I refused his request because..well... people but if I had known the trauma he was about to suffer I would have capitulated.



We walked further up the high street, passed Costa and the independent boutiques that sell clothes I never buy and up to the charity shops. The cancer research shop has blue painted windows with a wide low sill, where toddlers sit waiting for their mums to finish chatting. Yesterday, there was a chip on the ledge that the dog didn’t spot but a seagull did. As we walked past the seagull dived, landed on the dog’s back, grabbed the chip and flew off. Yes, that’s right. A seagull landed on my dog. Actually put both talloned feet on his fury back. It happened very fast, not giving the dog time to bark or even give a warning growl but just to leave him shocked and shaking. When he recovered he said, “I can’t believe I missed that chip.”

Since I have been confessing my madness and my obsession, in grief, with birds, friends have been sending me photographs, paintings, poems, stories and songs that have been inspired by these feathered creatures. It’s like a condolence, a “I’m sad with you and here are the birds I’ve noticed.”
I have enormous faith that people really want to help when you are lost and grieving but often don’t know what to do. Sometimes the grief stricken can get cross and snappy with their feeble attempts wondering why they are being asked so many questions. There really is no answer to, “Are you alright?” So much better to get a photo of nesting swallows, a beautiful original song about magpies, or a gif of the Pope dressed as a flamingo.

On Seagull day, one of my friends sent me a message. She had a bird story. She is moving to run a guesthouse in a place with Seagulls the size of small dogs and as she was putting the last of the bread in the garden for the birds about sixty seagulls (a bird she, luckily, loves the sound of - wait until 3am   at the seaside and then tell me you still love them.) came to eat. She felt as though they were saying goodbye and wishing her luck on her journey. I’ve always thought that the symbolism of the seagull is about the journey. This idea probably comes from Richard Bach’s beautiful book, Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. “Why is it so hard for you to be one of the flock?” This story is a metaphor for taking one’s own journey and finding yourself. Grief will make you re-evaluate these things.