Sky is a spectacle, clouds perform above the Gulf. I walk into the new day near the foamy surf. I go toward the rolls and waves of clouds, into the shades of day blue makes in morning light. I walk toward Beer Can Island and its haunt of broken trees toward the bridge in the channel. It’s first a flick and flicker of fin out of the corner of my eye–dolphin in the channel swimming toward the bay, and then more. I watch them swim beside me as I walk toward the pelican perched on the dock. Today I will walk and then write; I must find a poem to bring to my Monday night group. I go to the rough rough draft I made yesterday of a found poem in a letter of my mother’s and I work the writing of extraction, trying to find the secret reveal, the heart of the story. Soon, I am satisfied enough and send it off. It’s late afternoon and the clouds are clearing, calling me out. I stretch my legs along the gulf again. I am working with writers writing monologues for my online course; I check on their progress. Their progress is rewarding. Oh, the poems tonight in the workshop are pretty much wonderfully crafted and I am far away and very near. I am pelican. Attentive from my perch.