Saturday, January 21, 2006

Think Of Me As You Soar

I saw a pigeon dying today. I was walking home, dying, in fact. Dying for insalubrious things, probably. Happy I had left my camera at home. Nothing to shoot on a grim grey night.

And then I saw him. Lying. Well, sort of half-sitting. Squatting. Swaying. I hate pigeons. I want that to be clear.

He was half-squatting-sitting, or maybe kinda crouching-cowering, I'll have to get back to you on that one.

But his eyes were dipping, half-open, half-shot.

Head limply hanging back on the opposite side of his normally proud strutting breast, now shaking, hanging back on his back, in fact... such a strange sight to behold, and be told, perhaps...

I squatted down, in the gutter, between cars, like a tramp, like a drunk taking a shit, like people I have known have done before, and we shared...

His beady eyes looked and blinked, yet his body wouldn't follow his natural instinct to avoid human contact, our gazes locked, as the by-passers passed by with cries of "Ooh la la, il va mourir, celui là!"

And I THINK they were talking about the pigeon, but the comment would have been valid, in any case...

Bye bye dying pigeon, I said, venturing a finger like a supplication, I caressed his wing, the back of his withering carcass, three times, I said, three times, may you find peace, my fine feathered friend, who has flown much higher, and much more carefree than me, than I, in your mind's eye think of me as you move away, as you flee, as you soar, as you fly...

© Sab Will / Paris Set Me Free 2006

Section Updated: Walking The Streets

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I'm also glad for once you'd left your camera. You wouldn't have taken a shot of the dying pigeon, would you? I'd rather read about it... but there again, in this world of 'tele reality', most would prefer images.



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