I sit in the red Adirondack chair, the only one with a cushion, albeit a thin cushion, and marvel at the well-practiced thievery of the frigate birds.
I used to think that they were like a natural GPS tracking system for schools of sardines. Where ever five or more were gathered, soaring so gracefully on the breeze, dipping, swooping, gliding sideways — surely there were fish below.
But while the frigates are doing their narcissistic act of effortlessly artful skywriting up above, it seems that kamikaze pelicans, low-cruising cormorants and the brisk business-like white terns are doing all the heavy lifting. Read the rest of this entry »