Not often, but sometimes, out of nowhere,high up, sliding along a thermalabove the Gulf, one will appear overhead,tilting its deeply forked tail, and circlingthe pinkas now, its eight-foot wings making it seemas if the bird could remain aloft forever,defying gravity, a dark versionof Coleridge’s albatross drifting above,as if it’s here to look over this coastal spanof beach rearranged by Hurricane Ian.
