Tonight it is predicted that we will begin to receive a ferocious dumping of snow. After days where I could feel the hint of spring brewing beneath the ground, snows and winds will come charging through this city. If the forecasters are right.
Will Mr. or Mrs. Pigeon shake his/her fist at the skies, shouting vulgar words at a god who would one day pretend that spring wants to take hold while unleashing renewed winter fury the next?
I have seen snow-covered mama owls sitting on percolating eggs. How a feather-covered bird can sit in near-zero temperatures with a film of snow around and on her, I can't understand. I am in my home, nice and dry, with central heat blowing at 66 degrees. As I write this, I am wearing a jacket over my long-sleeved shirt. Put me in a nest on a tree limb with only feathers and snow to keep me warm and I tell ya, it wouldn't be pretty.
Dear Pigeon (Sorry, I don't know if you are a Ms. or a Mr.), I will be back to view the progress of your construction project and to see if you'll be growing a family there.
Why do I feel a certain dread that either weather or humans will undermine your efforts?
And why do you appear to be at peace with all of the future possible calamities that are, right now, only taking place in my mind?