The crows and Seagulls are at war.
A cacophony of screams of historical observance played out against a back drop part city, part endless ocean.
The sides pitch and fall as the tide dictates the ground, a landscape forever changing. Stones eventually becoming sand and grit.
A lone man struck a perch casts his line, unawares of the dog fight surrounding him. Maybe ignorance is bliss?
Another squadron arrives to add to the imbalance of force as an old woman throws catalyst to the wind, a shimmer of confusion and yeast.
The public assurances are played out. Those with indifference are unclear and unguided. Snap judgements ark heroically left and right, though rarely straight down the middle. The object few are flayed alive.
The battle intensifies. People stop and stare only to become bored and wander off, distracted by other immediate events.
The war has been waging for thousands of years, and we lack in enthusiasm, maybe purely because we do not understand.
All of a sudden there is quiet once again.