Hummingbirds, hawks, seagulls and pelicans buzz and whir and soar above. Crows and ravens too, scan the scene for a meal, doing work unseen in the meantime in their caw-caw-caw, and watchful eyes observing, preserving as they peruse and dine on dead things, carion and refuse. Poe's angst perhaps well founded as these black birds betray traitors and tell of things unseen by other eyes, treacheries done in the shadows.
Hummingbirds humm as they visit my hippie-cum-hobo campsite, licking the sandstone escarpment above my bed for the salient substances therein, salts and other minerals, I suppose. Don't much mindtheir shit and piss falling on my head as they hover. Some cultures say tis a blessing to be sprinked with bird's tinkle and poop. Seagull's droppings are of course another story.
The hawks have appeared just recently, and remind me of my neighbors above when camped by Spring Creek in Laramie, a pair oft seen in amourous endeavors on electric line poles whilst I sat in meditation in or near my tent in a circle grove of trees down by the tracks.
[apAvr AviskR droha apAvr AviskR dambha; Rta dharma]
Gulls by the thousands sometimes gather near here, where a creek meets the ocean. They seems smaller than ones I've seen in Laramie, dining on trash or floating on LaBonte Lake, often and not necesarily called 'Stink Lake.' Pelicans seem less abundant here than up north around Malibu, where they'd sometimes soar in formation with seagulls following in their wings' wake at Point Dume. And of course sparrows are here, ubiquitous and sweet little things (hawk sings as I wrote), as well as some smaler still have visited my seaside berth.
Used to dream more than lately of flying high, and certainly levitation's a siddhi I'd like to master. In the meantime and for dearth of monarch butterflies supposed to frequent here, I'm grateful for the birds, sightings and song, as I suffer harsh days here near the beach and by the harbor, Dana Point, California.