CREATIVE Robert MinhinnickNWR Issue 113
The white arse?
Three words on a piece of paper. That’s what the old man called the
bird. So I did too. The only time I saw it was in the Gwter Gryn with cliffs on three sides. Not a good place for the tide to catch you.
They’re here from April, those white arses. Till they go back to wher- ever they come from. Grey with that white flash. Close up there’s a line on the face like a lightning bolt. Kind of David Bowie cosmetic stripe, the old man said. Made it unmistakable, he thought.
I can’t remember the bird’s real name. I can’t remember David Bowie. But that’s what the old man called it.
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