Poor man, Violet often thought. Stuck inside that cramped little space with frigid air pumped out of the window unit, his only company a tiny TV in the corner and the out-of-towners who pulled through the gate all day. He probably thought similar things about her: Poor woman, all alone out in the heat, with only some birds to keep her company.

Today he tipped his cap in greeting as she slid through the gap in the gate and continued to the path between towers A and B. It was still early, only seven fifteen, but the sun was already hot, the sky a clear stretch of pale blue all the way to the horizon. She pulled the brim of her visor a little lower as she came out of the shade between the buildings and stepped up onto the wooden walkway that spanned the dunes. At the end of the bridge was a small bench, and as she deposited her shoes there, she was grateful to see hers was the only pair. The beachgoers were still in their rooms eating breakfast and slathering themselves with sunscreen. She still had some time before things got busy.

As always when her bare feet finally met the sand, she paused and dug in, savoring the cool cushion that crept between her toes. People talked about the healing properties of salt water—she remembered her mother once telling her to take a mouthful of Gulf water and gargle it to soothe a sore throat—but in Violet’s mind, the real healing was in the sand.

When she reached the firm, damp sand close to the water, she paused and took her clipboard from her backpack. She lifted the waterproof cover page and wrote the date and her name, then jotted down initial notes on the conditions. A quick look around with her binoculars, and she noted a group of birds to her left. Royal terns, 3, juvenile.

Violet had been volunteering with the local Audubon chapter for years. She attended lectures about bird migrations and endangered species and volunteered occasionally at the local nature center, mostly keeping kids from sticking their fingers through the bars of the injured-bird habitats. She’d taken an early retirement from teaching a little over ten years ago when Sugar Bend Academy merged with a larger school in the next town, which freed her up to accompany more seasoned volunteers on their regular bird surveys. After a while she was given an official clipboard and her own route.

Her job was to walk a one-mile stretch of beach, observing, counting, and identifying all birds whether on land, water, or in the air. During each survey season, volunteers were charged with recording and logging official data once a week, and Violet fulfilled her duty in rain or shine, heat or chill, and filled out the data sheets in her still-perfect teacher’s penmanship.

Today she kept her binoculars at the ready as she made her way down the beach. She moved cautiously, careful not to disturb the birds as they went about the business of their daily lives. For each bird she saw, she made a hatch mark on the bottom of her data sheet, noting the bird’s color, age, and sex. It was a morning for the laughing gulls, with several colonies dotting the beach and floating in the shallow water just beyond the gentle waves. The gulls always added a particular zip to the day, with their cackling laughter and slashes of black and white against the azure sky.