The seagulls are running up and down on the roof above my head. One of them has sat down next to my skylight. It pecks distractedly at the glass from time to time with its huge yellow beak. I’m watching it now, lying here in my bed. Tap tap tap. I don’t know what it’s trying to do. Maybe these are messages in Morse code. Tap tap tap. Why are you crying small girl? I am so sad, bird. I am so, so sad. Tap tap tap. Why, girl? You wouldn’t understand, bird. I have a human heart and you don’t. Doesn’t matter though, eh? Tap tap tap. A sad heart you say? No girl, it doesn’t matter. But you should stop crying now. Be brave. Tap tap tap. Maybe that’s what the gull is saying. I don’t know.
The swifts will be here soon. We have clouds of them every summer, chasing each other and calling across the sky. They look like boomerangs with their wide sickle-like wings, black boomerangs thrown heavenwards by a strong hand but never returning for they live almost exclusively on the wing. I love my brave swallows more, but it is quite a thing to watch the swifts put on their joyful aerial displays. Anyway. They will be here soon. And the gull taps at my window. Tap tap tap. Get up, girl. You must stop crying now. The sun is shining. Go out and greet it with a brave face. I think that’s what it’s saying. OK, bird. I’ll get up. The crying part of the deal, though? I’m making no promises.