Requiem for a daydream

Emma Watson patted the log she was sitting on. That particular spot, where the big log of wood had drifted about a month ago and which acted as a bench, had become a tacit meeting point.

"Why the glum face, my friend? Didn't the doctor give you good news?"

I hadn't realised I was looking sullen. "He did. I am allowed to travel again. And this is good news indeed. Problem is, I am broke now. I cannot even buy a train ticket to see my friends in London."

She smiled. "You may have meagre financial means, yet you're rich in other matters and this should uplift your heavy heart. Do you want to see where all the seagulls go when the sun sets?"

I had never thought about it. I know where the ducks go when the ponds freeze. The absence of gulls at sunset did strike me one day, but my curiosity as to their whereabouts ended there and then. "You're right, they must go somewhere."

"Come on, I'll show you."

We stood up.

We walked to the furthest end of the beach, near the fishing cabins. A green and blue kite was lying on the sand. It didn't look so much as forgotten as left there on purpose. Emma picked it up and set it up on an imaginary shelf. The kite stayed levitating there. She hoisted herself onto it. She looked down at me.

"Give me your hand, I'll help you up." I had my camera in my left hand, so I held out the right one, but suddenly I hesitated. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"It's my bad hand. I can't give you my bad hand."

"Come again? Your bad hand?" She seemed genuinely surprised.

"My afflicted hand," I added.

"Will it hurt you?"

I shook my head. "No, but it's not very pleasant to the touch."

"Silly goose," she said and grabbed my hand. She hauled me up as if I were as light as a feather. We had to stay very close together as the space on the kite was quite tight. The kite flew away skywards at a slow, yet steady flight.

The sea from this viewpoint was picturesque. The waves were drawing riddles which mirrored the riddles on the dunes. Emma started singing a lullaby which I recognised to be one I had written years ago. "Do you know where all the birds go? So far, so far, so far."

The higher we flew the windier it became, until we reached the clouds. I had seen the blanket of cumuli, strolling to where Emma and I usually met, but now they struck me as particularly dense and fluffy. We went through them via a hole pierced by a beam of sunlight.

Once we were above the cloudline, the winds ceased. The pale grey surface of the clouds was almost even; it looked smooth and sleek, yet moving ever so subtly like an oily sea.

Emma put her finger across her lips. She mouthed "Look".

The spectacle was unbelievable. What I had mistaken for clouds was in fact thousands of seagulls nesting quietly. I looked down on lower cumuli. Swarms of birds were poised on the vaporous vessels: the trompe-l'oeil was perfect. Their robe was spotlessly white under the sun. They were all turned to the golden orb level with the horizon. It was eerily silent. No wind, no squawking, not a single wing flapping.

I was speechless. The bright light was flashing in every direction, bouncing on the back of the gulls, warming the still air. We stayed until the sun sank beneath the distant line of clouds.

When we came down, the entire sea was on fire. The shoreline was speckled with gold flecks. The more distant shore was streaked blue and grey. Planes had crisscrossed their white way on the scarlet skies. Everything the light touched was given life of a kind. Perhaps because it acquired or lost its shadow.

I alighted first and helped Emma down. She looked at me intently, took my hand, but didn't say a word.

I smiled at her and turned towards the purple cloudscape. "Now I know where the gulls go when the sun sets. Too bad I forgot to take pictures."

When I turned back again, Emma and the kite had vanished without a trace.