Marcine was envious of birds. He never said as much, but there was something in the way he followed their flight that made me think he wished to be so free. His eyes changed. They became light, joyous, yet a little sad when they looked back toward the ground. He looked as such as we stood on the balcony of my apartment. Seagulls drifted silently, for once, in the cloudy, windy sky. I could smell the sea, and from the safety of my vantage point, the Sound looked angry, rough. A lone sailboat struggled back to port. At the navy base sailors could be seen crawling over their ships. The fleet was due to leave the next morning. I wondered whether the storm, which seemed ready to rise, would keep the crowd from seeing them off. People never seemed as patriotic when it rained.