dawn chorus

in brunswick, on the edge of the metropolis, the day dawns to the roar and rattle of the juggernauts, the incoming commuters, the never ending 24 hour onslaught of city life.


here at the harbour, on the edge of the languedoc's salty etangs, the day dawns to an altogether different rhythm...the caw of a seagull, the splodge at the side of the boat as it lands, bobbles about a while, has a waddle and a stretch, before dipping noisily, hungrily for breakfast.


in that rosy fingered first glow of morning, there's just one at first, and i ignore it, savouring the last few peaceful moments of the new day in my snug cabin, before the whole dawn chorus begins in earnest. he's not such a nuisance this first fellow, skooting about, flopping in and out of the water more for a casual morning wash it seems than any actual feeding intent. i fancy that its the same early riser each time, and that we have forged a fledgling friendship, a mutual agreement that we wont disturb each other's dawn rituals.

then the others drop in. first just a few, splashing and sploshing in the water, ducking and diving for the shoals of tiny fish that skirt the harbour and my little vessel. then the big boys muscle in and the games up. its the seagull equivalent of the arndale fish market when the catch is coming in...

eventually the cawing, cackling and relentless divebombing of the entire neighbourhood colony forces me to face the new day, peer out of my porthole and decide whether its flip flops or sandals as i make the morning trip to the boulangerie for my own breakfast....