I don’t know what the weather is like where you’re at, but here in Northern Indiana, it’s cold and there’s snow everywhere. This would be unremarkable except that two days ago it was in the 60s. I can honestly say that I have even used my air conditioner and my furnace in the same day. It made me think of a piece I wrote about 6 years ago. I had to write a sonnet for a writing class I was taking, so I wrote this (in my opinion) wonderful sonnet questioning spirituality and one’s rightful place in the universe. I get it back, and the comments went something like this:
I liked the sonnet, but change everything in it.
I’m paraphrasing here. So, I changed it. Hope it gives you a chuckle.
Meditation on Pigeons
I wish I was a pigeon in the breeze
To flutter, fly, escape these enclosed walls
To soar past buildings high above the trees
And soil the statues during nature’s call
The dirt, the grime, the smog I do not mind
And so on feathered wings I take to flight
Near benches in the park is best to find
The breadcrumbs tossed across the banks of white
The homeless leave these treats upon the snow
And I am pleased those kind folk thought to share
They barely have enough for them, I know
And still they gave me all that they could spare
So when the Cops evict those gentle ‘bos
I leave a pigeon present on their clothes.