Have you ever considered a comparative study of bird flight? No, really! Sitting here, at the beach, I’ve had an opportunity to indulge myself in some deep philosophical reflections, one of which has been the flight characteristics of birds relative to species and assumed psycho/social proclivities. I find that it is a very underrated yet intellectually stimulating field of study.

Contemplate the following: Seagulls tend to be scavengers. Whenever possible they do not do their own foraging for food … they eat whatever garbage they can find wherever they happen to find it. Of course, they are pretty egalitarian about it. Once they find a source for a free meal they call all of their buddies to join in. [They are a lot like charities in that way. Once you give to one, hundreds seem to come out of the woodwork looking for handouts.] But essentially Seagulls are lazy. They are very laid back, and their flight patterns reflect it. They fly with a very economical wing movement. A little up, a little down, and if there is a wind, coast as much as possible. They always seem to be going somewhere, but there is little agreement on where that is. Some are heading this way while others are heading that. No seeming rhyme or reason.

The Brown Pelicans, on the other hand, all seem to know just where they are headed. There is usually a string of five--or-so of them, gracefully skimming just at wave top height. Very self-assured. It seems you seldom see them move their wings at all . . . almost as though they have a built-in tailwind keeping them aloft. Stately. They don’t really care what other fowl are up to. Indeed, it seems beneath them to even consider the question. Of course their veneer of elegance is rudely ripped away when they come in for a landing. Then their aerodynamic properties change from glider to bowling ball as they crash into the water with all of the grace and beauty of a pregnant warthog. Pseudo-sophisticates.

Pigeons are the real obsessive-compulsives. They fly so hard that you can hear their wings slapping together! It’s almost as though they have a built-in head wind that they constantly must fight. And they simply cannot fly off on their own. Paranoiacally they are always afraid that some other Pigeon is going to get something they aren’t. That’s why you always see them flying in large flocks, and always changing directions. "Hey, where’s that guy going?" And they all swoop off in that direction. "Wait a minute … look where he is headed!" And they all fly off after him. Neurotics! Every one of them.

Sandpipers don’t fly too much. They are the maiden aunts of the bird world. Sandpipers bustle around the sand, sticking their nose [well, bill] in here, and then in there, and then following the water as it goes out, AND THEN RUNNING LIKE CRAZY AS IT COMES BACK IN. [You’d think they’d learn the trick, but they keep wandering out as the waves retreat, AND THEN FRANTICALLY RUNNING TO KEEP THEIR FEET DRY. Not smart.]

Then there is the solitary Osprey. Don’t even think about messing with him. He slowly, regally, beats the air with his wings, soaring up in the sky, until … suddenly … HEFOLDSHISWINGSANDDIVESINTOTHEWATERBEFOREYOUCANBLINK! Then he shakes off the water and the bonds of the earth and fights his way skyward with slow, powerful strokes as he carries his catch back to the nest. Self-sufficient. Autonomous. Stately. Imperious. Introverted overachievers?

I guess the Canada Geese are the Jewish mothers. The yentas. They all cluster around in one big crowd, and then they take off en masse, with such a honking and talking and carrying on … sounds like a Hadassah meeting when the refreshments have run out. Everyone talking, no one listening, oy!

There is a bird over here called the Black Skimmer. I guess he is the teenager of the crowd. He has a terrible underbite (the only bird whose lower mandible is longer than his upper), which might be the reason for his show-offy behavior. He spends his day, usually with a date, flying at breakneck speed, skimming through the shallows with his bottom lip [well, bill] dragging in the water. Kind of like a perpetual pout. I KNOW his mother must have told him, "If you keep doing that your face will freeze like that." Just another adenoidal mouth-breather trying to be cool. I can’t help but wonder what would happen if that lower lip hooked a good-sized fish. Another teenager hoist on his own petard.

I remember watching the Swallows that nested under the wharf up in Maine. They were like hyperactive children who had forgotten to take their Ritalin®. Good grief! Swooping and darting and diving, here and there and back again! You just know that somewhere there is a mother Swallow, feathers gray and ragged, looking for a government program to narcotize her frenetic children before she flips out completely … Ritalin® for them, Prozac® for her.

Then, of course, there is the neighborhood intimidator. Come on, you know who I mean. That’s right, the Mockingbird. Sits up on the peak of the roof, chest puffed out, telling everyone about how cool he is. Then when the poor dog wanders out to take a leak, old Mockingbird pops up, locks his wings in attack mode, and dive-bombs the heck out of her. Pecks her head and her rear, when all she is doing is looking for the proper place to poop. He thinks he’s so cool. He better remember that "It’s a sin to kill a mockingbird" will only take you so far. Bully.

You see? Calm reflections by the soothing water of The Chesapeake Bay can lead to truly seminal philosophical discoveries on the nature of life and living things. Or do you think I’ve been out of touch for a touch too long?