The Audacious Avarice

As I glance out my window, searching for an idea to fill the blank pages before me, I notice

a scoundrel has discarded an entire pizza in the newly mowed field next to my house. I surmise

the cad decided the disc of dough was not fit for human consumption and, being an

environmentalist of course, he tossed it there knowing it would eventually become a mound of

dust and find its way back into the earth, unless some four legged creature consumed it first.

Having spotted the discarded disc of dough, three seagulls decide to peruse the object at

the scene of the crime. They eye what appears to be a nine-inch disc of dough, tomato sauce,

cheese and pepperoni, quickly glancing back and forth at each other, maneuvering themselves

into position to take possession of the massive morsel of food. They prance about each other

like debating old men. I laugh. “This is amusing, I never noticed gulls doing this before,” I

thought. In fact, I rarely pay attention to nature at all. I am always too busy doing this or that.

I continue watching and conclude no decision is made to share the food while they waltz

about each other, as one of the fine-feathered contenders, in a rather grandiose fashion,

charges toward the pizza and stakes his claim. With unyielding superiority he turns and faces

his rivals. His hungry adversaries glare at him in discontent as they attempt to horn in, but he is

persistent in protecting the prize. He chases his competitors quite some distance before he

returns to the hearty disc of dough and toppings, hoping to put some distance between them

and his meal. “Wow, I can’t believe this pinnate creature”, I whisper to myself; “I would be

happier, I thought, if I were more like this audacious avarice of the air”.

His competitors try to muscle in once more, but his tenacity prevails and they take flight.

Now he can enjoy his piece of pizza in peace. My excitement grows as the champ flutters

toward the pizza and takes a quick snippet. He stops, looks around, then walks several feet

away from his bounty and makes a 360 degree survey of the area, scanning for intruders.

As I continue to observe this beauregarde, I think to myself, “this feathered companion of

many a lonely fisherman is so paranoid he can’t enjoy what he is vigorously trying to protect”.

The squab sputters back to the pizza. “Finally”, I murmur, “he is going to eat this

thing”.

Having the food all to himself, the beau sabreur, without notice, flies away forfeiting his meal

to the contention of his rivals. I glare in amazement. After all that effort to protect his

food, he decides to take flight leaving behind the decaying disc of dough and pepperoni,

denying himself the joy of feasting on the fruit of his labor and depriving me the pleasure of

watching.

Saddened by his decision and feeling cheated of the moment, I slump back in my chair

and await his return, as hope assures me he will not forsake his arduous battle and claim his

bounty. He cannot, he must not. An hour passes and still no sign of the minion or his rivals. I

turn away from the window. “Hope disappoints me once again”, I whine.

I scribbled the events onto the blank pages. It soon becomes clear, I am like that bird.

The disappointment I feel is with myself not hope, yet, I realize too, I am as happy as I can ever

be at the moment my pen touches that thin blue line and my thoughts spill out onto the pure

white paper, for I have a story to tell.

Kay F. Gibbs

February 14, 2000