I am on Vashon Island, Washington as I type, one of my favorite places on Earth. We’re renting one of my favorite rental houses.
Last evening, just before sunset, I put on my flower-power Bogs (thanks for the Bogs suggestion Helen) and walked far out on the mudflats just outside our rental. The mallards flew away, their quacks sounding like scores of laughing witches, but the gulls remained. A lone great blue heron flew over, rattling its warning call, causing the gulls to ascend, chaotically circle, then land back on the mudflats just yards before me.