For those of you for whom the above means absolutely nothing, see Bert from "Sesame Street" - how could one not love him?! And if anyone has a better way to transliterate the shrillish pigeon-y trill or coo or whatever one calls those gutteral sounds that emanates from pigeons, feel free to suggest a better alternative to my "hrrp".
Anyway, that is all simply a lead-in for me to post photos of our little visitor from Sunday past, a few days ago. A young one, clearly, still brown - before the worries of the world turn his feathers grey. I was inside, with the inner terrace door open, and did not want to frighten him by going out, so all of the not-so-good photos are taken through the glass outer door. And, unfortunately, he took the most interest in the planter immediately to the side of the door, so the angle is not the best either.
He seemed to be pecking at some things - not sure what is in there. "Fingernail" flower seeds? Hopefully he left some to germinate, although in all likelihood I will be rescuing some from my mama's garden anyway. The only other life in there seems to be the allium - leaves only. Everything else seems to be weedy. Oh! I forgot all about the "angel hair" vine! Its seeds will have dropped too. (Ok, here it might be handy to have the encyclopedic botanical knowledge of Marie from 66squarefeet so I could refer to plants by something other than their colloquial Vietnamese names that I learned from my mama. But so be it - there is only so much I can hold in the noggin, and financial security dictates select provisions of the Internal Revenue Code get to occupy at least some of the noggin where botanical names might otherwise take up residence.)
That afternoon started out nicely - I went and had a belated birthday lunch with a friend, and it was very nice in the sun, but a bit nippy in the shade. I had grand aspirations of getting a lot done - chiefly, adding compost around the roots of the blackberry bush, maybe around the lime leaf tree too. But by the late afternoon when I got to it, between the lack of sun on my north-facing terrace, and the wind, oh the wind!, it was just too cold. So I cowered indoors, with the inner door to the terrace open for light. And that's when our pigeon friend alighted. I couldn't help but think he might be a bit chilled too, poor thing. He seemed to like that the soil in the planter had sunk to the point where the rim of the planter would offer not indecent protection from the strong breezes. But then he flew off, as they all must.
Hopeful someday soon we will have a repeat of Friday - which was truly, truly marvelous - the bestest of spring in New York City.
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