Snapshots

Birds of a Feather

It's a cold, drab winter morning.  The grays and browns blend together creating a dull tapestry of bricks and sky.  But there is one bright spot of color; a red cloche hat.  It sits atop the head of a young woman in a gray felt coat sitting on a stoop.

She seems to be alone, as the city hasn't quite fully awoken yet, but if you were to look closer you'd notice some of her dearest friends are keeping her company.

Perched on each arm, contently pecking seeds from her hands, is a pigeon.  These particular birds, James, the one with the light gray feathers, and Mr. Featherbottom with the darker colored body, are only two of many regulars the young woman is familiar with.

Now, if someone were to come across this sight, and from time to time someone would, they might find the girl to be odd or even a bit crazy, feeding such wretched creatures, but that doesn't bother her.

The pigeons of the city are her friends.  They keep her company, they listen to her, their presence comforts her when she's feeling down.  All they want in return is a few seeds.  The pigeons don't talk back or put her down or try to make her feel bad or abandon her never to return like humans do.  They're grateful for her presence, as she is for theirs.

As they feed, the young woman strokes the oily colored feathers along their necks.  First James, then Mr. Featherbottom, James, then Mr. Featherbottom, taking great care not to spill any seeds or startle the birds.

They remain like this for a few peaceful, precious minutes.

Then as the people start to stir and the city returns to life, the girl's feathered friends finish their meal and are gone.  It's alright, though.  Even if they never return, though surely they will, there will always be pigeons in the city, and the young woman in the red hat will never really be alone.