felicity

On a telephone pole sat a dripping seagull. It had been a quiet, peaceful day, but the night in her little suburban town turned stormy. When a gust of wind uprooted her from her perch, she went soaring, straight down into the water below. While falling, she adjusted her feathers and wings to take flight, but with a broken wing, things like this are quite difficult. Upon contact with the water, frustrated yet unwilling to consign herself to a fate of drowning in 3 feet of water in a blow-up kiddy pool, in a strangers backyard. . . she thrust herself up with every bit of strength that she could muster, and floated -as awkwardly as any soaking bird with a broken wing would- to the top of the lowest pole and assumed her position; waiting and watching. 

At least her eyes were still good.