|Homing pigeon – you can just see the leg ring on the right.|
This evening in my French garden a lost homing pigeon has arrived and is perching on a beam in the barn. I guess by his accent he is English. Every few minutes he takes off and circles the town before being drawn back by some invisible magnet as sticky as the human soul to the beam in my barn. He/she is lost and miles from home. Maybe in the dawn the bird will find the way or maybe it will die, confused and alone.
This life is a concoction of unseen beauty and unacknowledged suffering. Fly little bird. Please find your way home.
Emma thinx: Home – what the homeless have not.