Oystercatcher Tide Pools Sits on his Picassso

With eyelids still merrily glued shut, the fellow was lost in song. Whether or not his simple mind had found the greatest comfort in the words or the melody, his auds almost missed the low undertones reverberating between the mellow lines of his voice. Lowering his muzzle, he let his tune fade into the ocean breeze, tail twitching in curious swishes as her curses were spoken.

Maybe fear, or at least submission, was what the storm was expecting yet instead he showed pure excitement. It was time to open his eyes.

With every part of his body still humming from his uplifting carol, he parted his lids, wishing, no, willing himself to see an outline of this passer by. But alas; his efforts were met with a milky white fade. Not even a blurred figure, just emptiness. "I'm sorry, m'lady," he spoke, his nose pointed vaguely, dejectedly, in the direction he had first heard her low tones speak from. "I have ceased my singing."