One mostly overcast Saturday morning, I joined my friend to go birding in Central Park since her boyfriend could no longer make it. Lucky me! Having just finished my book about a retired government assassin who excels at birding, I thought it was appropriate to experience what one of my characters did well. Albeit, our skill levels were very, very different (where Jill could pinpoint every bird, from its whisper of a song within seconds, I spent more time trying to figure out my binoculars than seeing actual birds).

Yes, I’m now aware that it’s not uncommon for women of a certain age to start throwing themselves into birding as a sort of rite of passage into middle-age. And throw myself in I did (see bird feeder with camera, mounted to my porch pillar, that I gawk at the frequent visitors. Have I mentioned that my name, Linnet, is also the name of an actual bird? Though my name is not pronounced phonetically correct (thanks to my mom’s accent when she stumbled across it while reading an Agatha Christie novel with a character named Linnet (plot twist: Linnet is murdered!)) ((double parens!))

Anyway, I digress. What I wanted to write about was Pelicans. How ancient they are (how I feel lately), and how transient they are, at least in the area of San Diego I spend six months of the year in (also how I also feel lately). Anyway, they look so freaking cool when they’re flying in formation and gliding down to sit on a rock, whether near the sunset gazers or the seals at the cove. The fact that they managed to persist despite humans being humans, nearly wiping them out, but then reversing their actions which thankfully helped them flourish.

Wait, what were we talking about again?

Anyway, Pelicans. They be cool.