Tranquil after the tempest.
Clear and distant.
World in focus.
Crows call and crowd on cobbled beach.
Pebbles tumbled like peanuts in a forlorn drunk's bar bowl.
Ducks fly in haphazard formation,
To smack onto mucky water.
Squadron permission to land - dive into arrival, flap, slap, splash then rest.
Starlings flit, too many to count
Are they really there?
As they skim sea's surface,
Playing havoc with the eyes,
Dark specks above white wave flecks,
Seeming to exist in numerous realms.
Spectral dots in spacial dimension.
Lone seagull fights for territory
On surf and turf. He can hold his own.
Calm after the storm?
Life goes on, even here.