Flattened feathery mats are a common sight on this bridge, and to console my wife, I told her it happens all the time, but I am the one that can't keep this clip from playing in my head. It has had me pondering my own species' overriding presence on this planet, and how we make things so difficult for the other species. We force them into circumstances they wouldn't otherwise be found, and we push them to the edge, only to redefine the edge. Some species have learned to live with us, and some have even thrived, but these are the proportionately minuscule exceptions. The gulls on the bridge, and there are many, must have determined that the benefits here outweigh the risks of possibly encountering any one of the 100,000 vehicles that cross the bridge each day. Those less careful birds that do lose their lives are perhaps helping Mr. Darwin prove a point.
(Just a reminder that my Winter Walk-Off challenge is open until 3/19 at midnight. I am fairly certain that the entries will be less somber than this one.)