A flight of cormorants

Yesterday was a gray day here, but the cormorants were out in full force just below the dam--so the fishing must've been good.  There's a bit of description in Touch Blue that I always think of when I see cormorants (or shags as they're also called here).

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Off starboard, a flight of cormorants huddles together on a ledge. Pitifully holding out their wings to dry, they look like a funeral group, all dressed in black with their arms out. Like they’re begging heaven, “Take me instead.” 

“Do you think God ever makes mistakes?” I ask.

“Mistakes?”

“Like not giving cormorants enough oil to make their wings waterproof, so they have to stand there and dry them?”

Dad slows his rowing. “I wouldn’t venture to speak for God, but maybe cormorants are the lucky ones.”

“How so?”

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“They have to stand still in the sun awhile every day,” he says. “Not such a burden when you look at it that way. Might do some people well to stop running around and stand still awhile, too. Think so?”

I nod.