Sea Lion Shores i am the instrument of joy

His ears are drawn forward by the cry of gulls, and his eyes pan upward to watch as they collect on the ground and float overhead some distance down the shore. He knows that gulls are like the crows of the sea; their cries and their gatherings are common indicators of food, and so the opportunistic lone wolf lopes toward them. His time is not wasted; a fresh seal has rolled onto the beach. Its blubbery form rocks in the receding lap of the waves. Its carcass is torn open from the rip of a shark's teeth and large chunks are missing, but there is still plenty.

He sniffs around the seal's face. Its eyes are missing, plucked free of their sockets by one of the gulls. He gets no further than the neck in his inspection, the strong fishy odor and the promise of a full gut coaxing him to feed. His fangs sink easily into flesh and he tears free his first bite. He holds it on his tongue, chewing slowly and enjoying the saltine taste as he appreciates the luck of the find.