BEACH PATROL

I lost myself on the empty beach
which everybody else had abandoned
at the first hint of winter chill
and watched a thin undulating line
just above the north horizon
as it approached where I sat
until the great impossible birds
became an animated cord,
a beautiful aerial corps de ballet
flying in careful formation,
a squadron, a beach patrol
checking interlopers and hangers on like me
to see if we belonged there
and should be allowed to stay.

I had seen pelicans on the beach before
but never in a line like this one.
They weren’t scanning their usual haunt
beyond the breaking surf
for foolish fish or other careless creatures
who venture too close to the surface
and pay for it by being caught
in one of their clumsy dives,
but they were flying over empty beach.

I spied the leader of this scouting party
positioned only slightly ahead of the others
with undisguised authority and superiority
that put me on my guard.
They flew directly over me
and turned in unison to sweep lower
to check to see what I was all about.

The huge birds made a wide figure eight
before continuing their survey of the beach.

I can’t say how I know they approved
and gave permission for my being there.
Who can ever say how exactly
a man gets his visa for a visit
to a place that clearly belongs to others,
but I got mine that morning
and only wish I could be invited to fly with them,
to tag along and make a sweep or two
of empty beach and restless surf.