Untitled

When you can't think of a title and the song currently playing is "Maneater" by Nelly Furtado and you're not really feeling like much of a maneater at the moment, what do you do? Untitle the damn post and get on with the business of writing it.

So it's my last day. Everything needs to be done today. Tomorrow morning there is no time for anything, just get up, shower, and head out the door. And there's still so freaking much to do.

Lots of debris floating past my window these days. The water is high, even at low-tide. So many ducks!

The new neighbours who moved in this winter below and to the right of my apartment have taken to throwing bread to the birds. I watched yesterday as a lone seagull glided along the shoreline. I wondered whether he would notice the slice of bread on the back lawn. I needn't have wondered, he turned and swooped onto the grass as if it had been his intention to land there all along.

The curious thing happened once he was situated. As far as I could see there were no other gulls around, no crows or eagles, no pesky blackbirds, the seagull could have snatched the bread and devoured it all on his own. Instead he paced a circle around it, with an almost suspicious looking eye. Round and round, he paced, never edging any closer.

And then I could hear the cries and soon four more gulls dropped onto the grass. They screamed at one another. Their feathers ruffled. They flew at one another. All the while the bread lay on the grass, untouched. Then a crow raced into the ruckus, claws poised to snatch the toast.

The biggest darkest gull stopped fighting and immediately ran over to the bread, snatched the slice in its beak and took off up toward the Richie Wharf. The crow and the gulls followed, dive-bombing the big gull from all angles. The pursuit lasted about five seconds before the bread was knocked from the gull's beak and fell into the river.

Then all the birds flew off on their separate ways as if nothing had transpired.

It was a curious thing to watch. I don't understand why that first bird didn't eat the bread while he had a chance. Perhaps it tastes better if you win it in a fight?

Mood: puzzled
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: anarchy in the uk, sex pistols
Hair: still liking the new do