Why would a clutch of eggs the size of pea gravel
have been laid at the peak of a dune so steep
it towered like a sandstone cliff above the sea?
One eggshell lay already broken in the nest
of soft ashes; I looked for traces of some predator,
for the baby. A trail of tiny tail- and claw-prints
led away—and ended. Then I heard, over the rush
of surf, the fluttering tattoo of two diminutive wings
beating against air as it glided over the water,
sunlight glinting on scales. I watched, entranced—
until a vast shadow loomed above me.