There's a puffin staring at me from between my ankles. I'm bent over at the waist, watching him as he waddles serenely between the pillars of my legs and disappears into a gaping hole in the lonely stone stair.
I'm so delighted at the clown-like makeup, half-smile beaks, and gentle gray eyes, I don't realize all the blood is rushing to my head and my ass is in the air until I stand up — coming close to falling off the side of forever — in an abrupt wave of laughter and dizziness. I wouldn't envy my loved ones the task of trying to write that particular obituary.
Passed suddenly of misadventure. Died as she lived: cackling mindlessly, tumbling off something terribly high. (We're told she was annoying the wildlife; in lieu of flowers, maybe just apologize to the next small animal you see.)
Yeah, probably better if I just sit down and watch for a while. These birds already think I'm an idiot.
The quiet roar of Skellig — absent of human sound, but constantly shifting through the tones of the wind — ruffles my hair and masks the tiny flapping slaps of their awkward feet. I think back to my youthful impression of puffins, and despite spending years believing they must be graceful and intelligent, I'm surprised to find I'm not actually upset to observe otherwise. Hell, it's actually pretty endearing. I unwrap a granola bar, and they instantly forget me in that way small children do when they intrinsically know themselves to be safe. There's no rats or stoats or weasels or foxes to pounce on this inviolate rock. Just me, munching contentedly with my feet tucked under my thighs and my hands full of camera lens.
And so it goes. They bobble about, doing birb-ish sort of things adorably, and I snap them while they do it. I can't shake the feeling they're letting me hang around with an air of bemused incredulity.
"Are you seriously still watching us? You seem like a very nice lady and all, but, uh.... get a hobby or something."
I don't know when I'll have another chance to be this close to creatures like these. My travel is always spontaneous and varied... sometimes I don't know where I'll even end up until I actually decide to stay there on my transit through, so I'm happy to soak it all in. I rest my chin on my hand and admire the way the feathers on their faces are so slight and downy as to be almost a soft fur. They stand on one foot and admire the sky and some little fish bits and twigs trapped in the rocks.
I still have to spend some of my time here actually exploring the island, so I figured I've bothered these little goobers enough for the time being.
As I unfold myself and climb the rest of the way up the stairs winding around the green hill, in the ghostly traces of the footsteps of monks and pilgrims, I nod at the bird closest to me with a secret smile. It smiles back, albeit looking adorably confused and mildly uncomfortable, but it's alright; unicorns be damned... I'm still all about puffins.
These photos and words are my own work, inspired by travels all over this pretty blue marble of ours. I hope you like them. 🌶️
