Pelicans in December

One can’t help admiring their rickety grace and old-world feathers like seasoned boardwalk planks. They pass in silent pairs, as if a long time ago they had wearied of calling out. The wind tips them, their ungainly, light-brown weight, into a prehistoric wobble, wings’-end fingers stretching from fingerless gloves, necks slightly tucked and stiff, peering forward and down, like old couples arm in arm on icy sidewalks, careful, careful, mildly surprised by how difficult it has become to stay dignified and keep moving even after the yelping gulls have gone; even after the scattered sand, and the quietly lodged complaints.