Birds, wind and dogs

Turtle Island is a rest stop for migratory birds.  Some of these birds have flown long, long distances and may have a long ways to go still.  So you see a lot of tired birds here.  I guess this one was so tired it fell over and died.

The Northeast Wind has started blowing, fiercely, relentlessly.  The air has turned cool, kind of like how fall is in my distant memories of America (I have been here that long).  I like to run up to the sea wall and stare at the roiling white caps and the spray against the tiny concrete dock, and lean against the cold, wet sea wind.  It makes me feel like I live on a lonely, rocky, windswept island in the North Atlantic.  Like a lighthouse keeper.
Of course, I am not alone.  There is the Coast Guard here, and their four confusing dogs.  They seem to alternatively like and dislike me, but I think it is just part of some grander scheme.  Once, they came barking and circling down the path towards me, and the white one came to stand confidently by my side while the black ones kept their distance, unwilling to come near me.  I felt like I was in the middle of a standoff.  Keep me out of it, dogs.

Sometimes I get bored and imagine dog politics.