February Patience

A single gull stands on the stones, the shoreline reduced to winter essentials. No crowds. No scraps. No lift from warm air. Just cold water, muted light, and a day moving at its seasonal pace.

The gull does not pace or fidget. It holds its position on uneven ground, feathers drawn in against the cold. There is no urgency in its posture. No signal that anything is missing. It waits, not passively, but with the calm steadiness of something accustomed to winter.

February on the South Coast asks for this same posture. Not retreat, and not resistance, but a quiet willingness to stay present with what is. The tide continues its work. The water moves. The shore remains firm beneath the stones.

Nothing here is rushing toward the next season. The gull does not act as though spring is late. It accepts the conditions as they are, conserving energy, watching the water, trusting that change arrives on its own schedule.

There is something instructive in that kind of waiting. A reminder that not every moment is meant for progress or resolution. Some moments are meant for holding steady, for enduring, and for allowing time to do what it does best.

The stones stay cold. The sea keeps moving. And the gull remains, patient and grounded, exactly where it needs to be.

Talk soon…

G