This One Flies

The gull flies. Just the one.
There are others huddling in the rock jeddy,
huddled together against the February cold.
But this one flies, capturing the icy wind
and traveling with it, not against it,
letting the wind take it where it will,
the only one who feels the sun.

About this poem

About gulls in winter. About life and choices and trusting life to lead us where we need to go. Poetry is never about one thing.

The picture was taken in Rye, New Hamshire.

Tom