Late afternoon, at Chatham Light, my phone service is finally working again. It had pretty much failed for most of the beach at Truro and Wellfleet. I'm glad to be reconnected.
With the lighthouse behind me, I'm checking messages, smiling at friendly voice mails, but now I'm lagging behind at the top of the path and I see my husband and son below in the sand, like characters from a diarama, glued to the pretty beach scene. What a beautiful evening.
Near my head, a gull and another gull friend are suspended in the air, looking all the world like two remote control toys from Radio Shack in grey and white plastic. They are doing that lovely friction-free gliding on air jets which they navigate with complete ease, as if held up by a provident hand. With the beach so far below, they are at my eye-level only five feet away — they seem to be hanging there motionless in the stiff breeze, waiting to use my phone when I'm done with it. Sure guys, help yourself.