laughing with the crows

laughing with the crows

the seagull struggled feebly on it’s back as the crows stood over it pecking at its eyes and anus. a flock of gulls stood by in the wet sand and watched white feathers in the air, more compelling than seaweed. i sat on the seawall and watched. i might have stopped them, but that would have been interfering with nature and death. (me and my feelings.) i told myself: the gull is sick and weak and will die anyhow. there is nothing to do and the crows need to eat. (survival of the fittest.) while the crows pulled the eyes and living intestines out of that gull, the others watched, thinking: more fish for us. i went home feeling lousy about a legitimate end. i told myself if it was a man, i would have helped. if it was a man, i would have done something. me and my feelings. survival of the fittest. they don’t go together.