The Yellow Line


While surveying the North Saskatchewan’s last iceberg I turn to find this seagull contemplating a journey.


One consideration: A question lingers in his gullish mind. The question of whether or not to live by the Rule of the Yellow Line. A question that only recently rose to the surface after he noted a major, well, slight, difference in the appearance of the rings around the bills of his companions. The question now arises as to rank, class and jurisdiction.


The Rule of the Yellow Line is inexorable. Once the differences are manufactured true inherent commonality is lost and conflict is not merely possible but inevitable.

A second consideration: This journey is a gull’s version of the Yellow Brick Road, leading to the magical Emerald City, which we all know is Seattle.

A third consideration: What do gulls need with lines, yellow or otherwise?

Observations of Seagulls and Humans at a highway campground June 15, 1997:
On the ground, graceless,
Chattering, nattering over scraps of insignificance,
Defecating beside tents, hypnotized by traffic,
Discordant, dissonant, dumbfounded and dazed
But in the still air,
Soaring, sailing, diving, rising,
a ballet of gliding grace,
a symphony of symmetry,
In silence, we too soar upwards,
the path always new, seeming to make it up as we go,
No need of a map up here, its charted in our hearts.

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1 Comment

  1. A much-appreciated mentor recently spoke of finding the beauty we were meant to live in – your poem speaks of that place and where it is to be found.

    My most recent reading/listening has had elements of disonance/consonance – from the ‘discordant’ to the ‘symphony of symmetry’.

    The yellow line – a remembered walk, moment of contemplation, listening, breathing, noticing the ‘weird’ little moments that are so often missed.

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