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April 19, 2002
Seagulls, stand tall, fly high and far for the dunes and the waters of the bays and oceans. In quest traipses your being for you acclamation and brood. White-gray guardian and overseer atop a dune mound like ocean foam on the waves, which caught in your sights, crash upon your wading place, your nourishment from the sun outside the shade. You cry out your call in the symphony of splashes, crashes, sea breezes and the others flocking the open air you sail in. Gather all you brine feathered friends, the scavengers and scourers of our litter and nature's own jetsam.