Monday events.

Am sitting watching pigeons under the L tracks heating lamp.
(For some reason Davis street's are operating)
The pigeons, as usual, are all crowded together, avoiding the rain.
They move around in struts and spasms,
but talk to each other in soothing tones.

One ventures out past the warmth.
The others stop and stare.
He approaches the cliff just above the tracks and then suddenly his claws grip the edge.
Teetering precariously over the electrical currents beneath him,
he flaps his wings...
and then flutters back from whence he came.

The others are hysterical. Gawking around repeating to each other,
“thank goodness, that was a close one!”
....

But you are birds! There is no such thing as close ones.

Ah, yes. The rain. One can understand the desire to stay grounded this evening...
but then what is your excuse every other day?

I contemplate walking over to discuss a few things with them.
Get down on their level. Eye to eye.

" Ahem. Don’t you know, there is more to being a bird than this, there is more than scraps of donuts and wild children bounding into your midst. There is more than this station and there is more than wires. Why, you winged things, do you banish yourself to the city walls and back alleys?
There! follow that road, at the end is the lake.
And there, follow that steeple, up there is the sun."

But they won't listen, They are perfectly content with buzzing electric heat lamps,
and the safety of the street.

...
it feels a little ridiculous judging birds-
flapping things without souls.
but it feels even more ridiculous upon realizing...
that perhaps,
perhaps i have a few heat lamps of my own.