A flock of terns

Sir, It’s blowing an easterly gale down Beach Road, whipping up sand, from aspiring dunes in gutters, unswept for days. Once on the beach, stinging sand, keeps away, early morning striders. So, I have the whole place to myself! When I approach the intertidal fence to the bird sanctuary, alarmed, a sudden flock of terns, takes off from the mud flats at the Lourens river’s estuary, into the wind. Fifty plus give aloft, from a standing start, (joined by some Hartlaub’s gulls) in perfect unison, an aerial display, second to none. In unerring formation, they split into two groups and spiral up, then peel left and right, bank, dive, swoop and spread, split again, half peeling right, half, left. They combine, soar, advance, and just before they reach me, split again, bank right and left, circle inwards, cross paths, wingtip to wingtip, almost touching, in perfect formation. Enthralled, I cheer! Then there’s a victory swoop and a perfect landing, yonder, at the water’s edge; in the ripples. The gulls, equally enthralled, copy the flight perfectly; breathless, but beaming.