Written by: Albert Ahearn

A prodigious flock of seagulls float seemingly, effortlessly on a winter frigid river like miniature polar floes. Their harsh wailing and squawking calls are muffled by the roaring sound of cascade from an old dam. Their idiosyncratic moves manifest aquatic prowess: Their twirling, swirling, eddying against the current as though fixed to each molecule of water until they rise from the surface into winters late morning mist.