Flight at Dawn

I watched as the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting the river below in a soft, golden glow. The mist rolled in, thickening the air, blurring the edges of the world. In the distance, a lone seagull appeared, its wings cutting through the fog as if guided by some invisible force. I had just enough time to capture the moment, the bird’s graceful flight against the fading light, the quiet babble of the river. There was something hauntingly peaceful about it, a fleeting moment of harmony that made me feel as though I’d witnessed the spirit of the Adam’s River itself.