1 minute read
Pigeons
A s the day star r ises over a f rozen field, k issing the roofs of houses, the bar ren
limbs of pin oak trees and the long ar m of the church spire reaching toward the
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wintr y sk y, I can’t help but think of the rock pigeons we saw huddled wing-to -
wing early last evening, on t wo ropes of electr ical wire. We passed by them so
quick ly, I only glimpsed these dozens of dozing birds, though long enough to note
their cozy coexistence, their companionable willingness to keep each other war m.
Heads t ucked into their neck s, their chests puf fed like r ising pastr ies, most slept but
a few, perhaps keeping watch, remained vigilant. Like t win str ings of black pearls,
they enhanced the beaut y of the br ight fir mament that would soon fold them into
its pur pling light — their little bird hear ts beating as one through the cold, dark night. — Terri Kirby Erickson
Ter r i Kirb y Er i ck son’s m ost recent bo ok of p o etr y is A Sun Inside My Chest.