Gull
“One broken wing, one whole summer, and a hundred mornings on the kitchen windowsill.”
Gull was brought in by a fisherman in a bucket, a young herring gull with a wing that would never fully close. He was never able to fly properly again, so he did the next best thing: he claimed the windowsill, the washing line and the entirety of the back garden as his territory, and defended all three loudly. He liked toast. He liked being read to. He did not like hats. When the summer people left in September he would stand on the wall and watch the road for days.
Pictures of Gull, kept by the person who raised this memorial.
Whispers left here
Small messages from visitors — a candle in words. 2 so far.
You screamed at the postman every single day. He misses it, I can tell.
I still put the crusts out. Just in case.
Some things are easier to say later. Seal a letter for Gull and choose the day it opens — it stays unread until then, even from this side of the garden.
No letters yet. The first one can be yours — a few lines for a date that does not exist yet.