The Gull - Michael Donhauser

She’s stuck on her legs, sticking to her legs, and ducked down is how she carries her head, tucked into her feathers, turns her beak, a kind of needle, towards the wind.
Thus compressed she sits firmly fixed in herself in the snow, seems to know no irritation except for the wind, no goal beyond the direction of her beak.
Then she stretches, cranes her neck and spreads her wings into a gull in flight, follows her beak, leaves behind a cry and small lozenge traces in the snow.

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Michael Donhauser (born 1956) Liechenstein (lives in Austria)
Translated by Rosmarie Waldrop

Source: The Volta