Washed up in Pacifica

A lifeless head. Laying there on the sand. Eyes a black void staring out to sea, dagger like beak pointed water-ward. No body, just the head. Beach life continued as normal all around it. Sunbathing, surfing and beach combing. No-one paid mind to the dis-figured bird, I guess they all just accepted it, chalked it up to nature and the circle of life. But how did a murre have it's head removed and then wash up? The Farallones are only 20 miles off shore, maybe it got in a bad way, succumbed to the ocean where the predators had their fill, then currents pushed it about for me to find.

Just before bed that night, my wife enthusiastically showed me a snack power ranking, giving her commentary on chips and their position. The grooved cheese-it's were apparently the best, with Whole Foods solidly mid. Annies bunnies were OK too. The image of the bird head flashed back to me between snacks. I so often enjoy the lively, vibrant world of birds. They come and go from our yard, street lights and even outside the DMV. They brighten my world with their behavior, plumage and songs. The head was dark and black and lifeless. A side of the same world I had never considered.