This hasn’t got much to do with writing, but I do rather like them.
The room I write in isn’t particularly special, though it is feeling more mine day by day. It’s nominally the guest bedroom, but with the Pandemic there haven’t been any guests in quite some time. There’s a large bookshelf, a desk, a wardrobe. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But the window, which my desk faces, has a good view of a large tree. In that tree, at some point last month, I saw that a wood pigeon was sitting in the same spot whenever I happened to look. When I thought about that a bit, I took a closer look and realised it had a nest, and that the pigeon often sat nearby was probably its mate.
I admit I’ve gotten quite attached. The nest is at my eye level when I’m in my desk chair, and it often feels as though the bird in the nest is looking at me whenever I glance out at it. Sometimes to reprimand me to get back to work, other times to congratulate me on finishing something important.
Today, I saw what I had been looking forward to since I first realised what was going on. A small, grey, extremely fluffy looking baby pigeon. I’ve not been able to get a picture of it, mainly because it’s quite cold still, and I applaud the pigeons’ caution in not exposing their little ball of fuzz to the elements overlong. I’ll try to get a picture though, and update this post with it once I do.
Whether I do or not, I hope you’ll join me in appreciating my feathered friends.
Update: I tried to get another picture, but the camera doesn’t zoom very far. I went and stood under the tree to at least get a better photo of the pigeon and nest:
Rainbow Samphire 