Wednesday, 11 June 2014


If I'd arrived in Regina just now, I'd admire the pelicans, aka The Mighty Pel. If they sat at cafes, they'd drink lattes. On the beaches of Normandy they'd serve. They're the favourite bird of the Charolais Breeders conferencing at my workplace.

The pelicans as I skidded my bike into view gave two seconds of their lives to making sure I could stop before I hit the water. The rest was lake, the west curve of the big lake at the Broad Street bridge. In unison they bowed their heads. What fish had a chance, if the lake had fish, before eight pelicans forming a scythe that skipped choreography and went straight to dance.

It may have been a dance of sorrow re the abundance and content of the fish. But The Mighty Pel knew that coming in.

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