37 Wood pigeons to the rescue!

37 Wood pigeons to the rescue!
Sunday September 2, 2012:
A queer friend is in hospital. Her mental distress is so significant that
many friends are frightened for her ongoing sanity. She has made a
connection with pigeons. Friends have asked me (known for my pigeon
fancying tendencies) if I will communicate with them on her behalf.
So I called to the wood pigeons and tell them about our queer friend. This
is what happens.
When I want to talk to the pigeons, I do a pigeon dance (stiff legs, waddle
and bobbing head!) I also sing the call of the pigeon, and because
specifically Wood Pigeons are asked for, I sing in this case
"droo-droo-droo, droo-droo". This looks rather odd so I do it at the bottom
of my garden, hidden by my splendid castor oil plant, behind which, much
nefarious magic is done, out of sight and sound of the neighbours.
I dance and coo, until out of the stillness of the evening, I hear a
scirring of a thousand wings. The air grows thick with birds, And down they
come, hundreds and hundreds of them.
It seems like every pigeon in London has heeded the call. Down come pigeons
of all hues, creamy ones, white ones, grey ones and brown ones, a few rather
nice navy ones. All of them are bearing a feather in their beaks. Each
drops their feathers so they make a thick layer on the ground.
They circle round this thick, blue, grey, white, silvery and brownie-creamy
luxurious nest. They dance together, strutting and bobbing in a complex
graceful quadrille, dignified yet touching in their points of uniformity and
of difference, for their separate personalities seemed to mitigate the
similarity of their steps. Pigeon Busby-Barclay that's what it is!
They circle round and round, moving back and forth, in and out, the ever
changing patterns mesmerising and so very soothing. And as they dance, they
coo softly, a harmony of pulsing breathy softness, like an oral caress.
The dance shifts and the birds drawback to reveal our queer friend, curled
up amongst the feathers, sleeping peacefully. She lies dreaming and the
pigeons sit as though on guard softly cooing, watching over her, keeping her
safe.
AS she sleeps, she dreams. The pigeons seem to hear her dreams, as from
time to time, one or other of them moves out from the dance, shakes their
quivering wings and flies off into the sky, taking our queer friend's
message with them. In time, they return, bobbing and strutting towards our
still sleeping queer friend. They coo their messages softly into her ear.
Time moves on. The sun rises, moves across the sky and sets. Many days
will pass as are needed. One day, a finger of sunlight touches our queer
friend's cheek and she awakes. She smiles, knows she is safe and is glad to
be in the world.
The pigeons, who have kept vigil for her, coo and bow. They invite her to
dance. At first, with faltering steps, our queer friend dances amongst
them. Soon though, she is bowing and stepping and cooing just like them.
She watches as they fly around, up into the sky and then back down to the
ground.
Our queer friend knows now that the pigeons will be her messengers. They
will also be her guards, for the times when she feels distressed. She can
appreciate them by dancing their dance on the ground and always bowing (when
it is convenient of course) whenever she sees a pigeon.
My garden is quiet. I stand, slightly swaying. The pigeon song in my head
soothes me. I turn to the east and sing the pigeon song, laced with the
sound of the scirring of many wings, the "thwo-thwo-thwo-thwo-thwo of a
thousand wings, sending love to our queer friend and hopes for a peaceful
night and a calm and safe tomorrow.
Blessings to you for your care for our queer friend and for all who are
keeping her safe. The pigeons have come to her now and won't leave her till
she no longer has need of their protection.