The Pond Gulls

The Pond was drained, revealing umpteen minnows; they wriggle in the residual water turning in silvered arabesques choregraphed by a water-rippling wind. Large ocean-going gulls descend out of a troubled sky, they walk among the writhing small fry pluck out the little fish employing just the tip of their great beaks as if sensible of the delicacy of such morsels. Dark clouds loom foretelling a storm, strange but the gulls do not fly off to feast on Lake Erie’s plentiful bounty, the linger here on this little pond like diners at a buffet skewering only these unseasoned sprats, while squalls ferment the Great Lakes and bigger fish fly freely through the cresting waves.