The beach emptied, as visitors caught their ferries back home, or went to tidy up for dinner.
Three seagulls were left, determined to wait for the last available bird tasty nibble, as the tourist seaside tables were cleared.
A battle started, "it is mine, not yours, fly off."
Screeching broke out till only one seagull remained.
"The beach is mine" it declared, but it was a hollow victory, as no more scraps of food were available.
Finally with a last look around. He took off seawards skimming the water and soaring upwards to nest in the trees in the surrounding hills.
To await good fishing, or another scavenging day, when the tourists come back again to play.
© 2022 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen
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