Philosophical Letters: The Birds

 

I was flying above Nat's farmhouse completely alone. The only living beings remaining were small fish and insects; I ate them to survive. I don't know where the flocks of those deadly birds are now.

I am aware that I will die soon. There aren't enough insects, and the small fish are not enough to sustain me. However, I am free to fly without the dictate of the tides. I can fly over the Atlantic Ocean; I have perfected my solo flight. I experimented with slow glides and high-speed dives to feel my feathers caressed by the wind. I defied gravity and the physical limits of a white seagull.

Now, death has a different taste.