I sometimes observe the Sabbath for myself, as a secular sacrament, and an excuse not to work on Sundays. This particular Sunday I loaded myself up with my favorite hamburger and fries from Steak and Shake and took it to go to sit and eat my burger and fries on the beach. Seagulls love food. They love hamburgers and they love fries. They don’t even mind the sand that covers the food when it’s thrown on the sand. Once a crowd of seagulls had gathered themselves ominously around me, I felt responsible, as someone with so much more money and food than them, to feed them too. This started a frenzy of swirling and swooping white birds, glossy black eyes, suspicious beaks. They weren’t afraid of me, and some began hovering above my head like aerial sentries. I did not know seagulls could hover. Other beach goers looked over in amusement, I think, at how close the birds came to me, and the kids on either side of my sitting spot were enchanted, and soon had to swoop in themselves to commune with the birds as they did their dance, cleaning the beach of every last fry