Trespassers

There is a lawn on Feldspar Street where at least a dozen seagulls come to rest each day. An ordinary lawn, no greener and no larger than those in front of other homes on Feldspar Street. But here, in this one place, shortly after 2 p.m. the sleek white birds convene, to stand and stare at passersby, to preen the smoother feathers at their breast, to sleep, to cry complainingly at grinning dogs who come from several streets at 2:15.