One would think
To find the pigeons huddled
Close in
Tucked together
Head under wing
A tight muster in the corner
Of the cupola
The fierce wind gusting
And battering the evening
Everything hustled and blustered away
The less valiant
Beating a meek retreat
Before the onslaught
The tremendous bellowing blows
Anger
Frustration
Mere display of power?
One might expect to find the pigeons
Roosting in the far recesses of shelter
Praying for respite
One wouldn’t dream of their ecstasy
In the raw nature of things
Their joy in launching from safe haven
The courageous dive
Into the center of the wild
And ravenous wind
And one can only marvel
As they leap from the precipice
And loop and frolic the white capped sky
A wave of collective feathered souls
Thrown with abandon
And sheer tumultuous faith
Into the depths
Into the heartbeat
Of the monstrous disquiet




Sara Mathews       March 2019