Rick and I are only thirty minutes away from Bodega Bay.  It can be sunny and warm in Santa Rosa and socked in fog along the coast.  We never know what we’re going to find, but whatever the weather, it’s worth the drive.  We headed for Bodega Head a few weeks ago.  You can see whales in season from there.  We could see the cloud covering rolling in.  The fog lay heavy on the coast, though it often burns off by noon.  Not that day.  Yellow lupin bushes packed the hillside, few people on the coast trail.  We sat in the car, windows down, and watched and listened to the crash of waves on the rocks below.

A seagull drifted on the air currents in front of us.  Back and forth, up and down, riding the wind.  There are plenty of seagulls in the area, scavenging Doran Beach where the tourists play, pestering the fishermen at the harbor, squabbling over beach and parking lot findings, squawking.  In the air, they are graceful and have a piercing, distinctive cry.  Like turkey vultures, they don’t have a great reputation, but they are necessary, part of God’s clean up crew.

Sitting in the car, watching a seagull put on his aerial show, I daydreamed about being a seagull for an hour or two (not so long I’d eat their diet or deal with bully-birds or annoyed fishermen, tourists, dogs off leash or children throwing rocks).  Just an hour to drift on the wind, back and forth, floating without a care in the world, a bird’s eye view of the rugged coast,  letting the wind lift and carry me.

I wonder if that seagull had his own daydream as he floated on the wind currents above us.  Look at those people.  Ah, to have a nice cozy car to ride around in.  No flapping my wings. They’ll be at The Tides soon where they’ll be handed a menu.   No fighting a mob for a morsel.  Ah, to have a Dungeness crab sandwich delivered.  What a life that would be!