As we strolled along the beach, I noticed a pelican on the sand, huddle and motoinless. He watched us ad we approached but made no attempt to fly. I look at the bird which was as large as a graceful swan. He had a moderate wingspread and a rounded tail. He was creamy white with slight yet so strong, and thought, not for the first time, how strange and beautiful it must be that a creatureso grotesque could know one complete moment of flashing beauty; at the very last split second of his dive, a fishing pelican folds his clumsy wings and cleaves the water like a hurled arrow, all grace,power,and precision. But at this particular moment I had a feeling that this bird would know no more such moments.
I ran my fingers along his fine,silky,almost naked throat feathers. I could feel no obstructions. The bird flinched a little, took a few steps and then grew still.
The sun went down in a smear crimson. We carried him to thevsea, through the dunes and across the deserted beach. The tide was ebbing; the waves were steel-colored in the soft dying light. We set the bird down in the water; something happened. It had ended. Silently, the great head fell forward into the waves. We buried him at the foot of the dunes where the sea could watch over him. The tide would never reach this far.