The sign

The gulls were turning and dipping

over the outwash at Bowersock south.

The winter sun squinted my eyes.

The wind drew moisture from my nose.

I lifted my arms, not to join the gulls,

but to salute their vigor.

Still, I managed

to get one foot off the ground.

One gull left the others

and flew off downstream.

I saw my breath in the air,

outward from where I was gazing.

I think it was a good sign.