A pigeon sits immobile on the
wall, beneath palm leaves made ragged by a week of hard buffeting. It’s eyes, black,
map-pin orbs, in an amber sea, are fixed on the bearded bark. Perhaps it contemplates
a warm nest lined with the fibrous thatch, or is just wondering how alien the
tree looks here in the eastern shires. A sharp gust ruffles the bird’s
composure. Chest feathers puff up like a lilac pillow, reflecting the strange
paint choice on the courtyard wall.
