Seagull

I found a seagull whose left wing had been broken. He was wandering the familiar sand, dragging what was left of his flight gear behind him.

His eyes showed signs of bewilderment, as he could not figure out how to get back to the sky.

I had to go home. The sun was setting. I left him there, wondering, in the sand. A couple of his compadres had landed and would fly away momentarily, I was sure, just as this one would have done the day before he lost his gift of flight.

I came back the next morning. His body was cold in the sand. He had found his wings again, surely, only in better form.