Pigeons

A s the day star r ises over a f rozen field, k issing the roofs of houses, the bar ren

limbs of pin oak trees and the long ar m of the church spire reaching toward the

wintr y sk y, I can’t help but think of the rock pigeons we saw huddled wing-to -

wing early last evening, on t wo ropes of electr ical wire. We passed by them so

quick ly, I only glimpsed these dozens of dozing birds, though long enough to note

their cozy coexistence, their companionable willingness to keep each other warm.

Heads t ucked into their neck s, their chests puf fed like r ising pastr ies, most slept but

a few, perhaps keeping watch, remained vigilant. Like t win str ings of black pearls,

they enhanced the beaut y of the br ight fir mament that would soon fold them into

its pur pling light — their little bird hear ts beating as one through the cold, dark night. — Terri Kirby Erickson

Ter r i Kirb y Er i ck son’s m ost recent bo ok of p o etr y is A Sun Inside My Chest.