Fort De Soto Beach and Bird Migratory

North Beach

Under a 4:00 O’clock sun, the gold-tipped waves on green gulf waters give me hope. Pelicans are grey-brown like gargoyles. They glide gracefully with precision inches from the water’s surface, their large bodies not yet weighted by oiled wings.

Warning signs hang on wooden posts to separate the conservation area for migrating birds from the public beach -- an attempt to keep beachgoers away, along with their red plastic cups, banana yellow buckets, and large blue coolers. The soft white sand is unaltered; sea oats grow on dunes that haven’t been flattened by flip-flop feet.

A choreographed flock of black skimmers take off in unison; ink-black wings contrast their underside that is white like marshmallow. They return to the sand as gracefully as their take off and abruptly stand in silence and stillness at the shore’s edge. Their red and black beaks all face downward as if the birds are observing a moment of silence. They’re cloaked with black wings, looking like small funeral attendants, but when in flight, their undersides are white like doves against blue sky.

The gulf looks light green and pure. Slow water ripples the sand, and broken shells, not oil blobs, scatter across fine, innocent sand.