THE
WINTER’S TALE 2018:
LAYLA AND VELVEETA
“A sad tale’s best for
winter.”
~Shakespeare
"Hey little fella. How did you get here? You’re supposed to
be in New Zealand.” Layla Latham adjusted her binoculars for a closer look at the
bird nestled in a crevice in the cliffs above RAT beach. It took off like a
rocket. It flew 105 mph towards Hermosa Beach. She blasted after it in her
power boat but it was no match for the little bird.
“No matter. I think I know where you are going. I know where I would go if I were you,” Layla
powered down and docked in King Harbor. It began to drizzle. She went home to
pick up her rain gear and more powerful equipment that would allow her to
record sound and images from a greater distance. It was going to be an interesting
evening. It had been nearly two years since she lost her husband Thomas and
birding was how she had come to cope with the loss.
“Oh Thomas, you won’t believe what I saw!” the screen door
slammed behind her. She dropped her backpack on the kitchen table and popped a
frozen dinner in the microwave. There was no answer of course.
~ To Be Continued ~
