The pigeons who come to our garden, and stay, and raise their young, are slightly comical characters. At least, I usually find them so. Sometimes, though, I feel a deeper connection with them – like the time I accidentally exposed a nest, which you can read about here.

I’m afraid I don’t know who took this picture of a pair of pigeons.
Once again, in this next lockdown poem, I am recording the moment, what arises as I seek to receive the gift of the moment before me. This moment came from my morning yoga practice. I often find movement helps move me to a place of stillness and prayer more than sitting still. I often find it settles my mind, and helps me come to a place of deep connection. Although I seek to return to prayer, I notice when things catch my attention, and wonder if they have significance.
Once again, I begin writing in my notebook, not knowing why something has caught my attention, until it emerges from my pencil. This poem explores the growing feeling of mutuality I have with my place – that I am sharing it with other creatures, and that we take care of each other.
Yoga under the sycamore Lockdown 21
We have come to an
accommodation,
that pigeon and I.
I know it waits on these
branches above my head
on its way to the nest –
just there, in the hedge,
and so I lay down my yoga mat
carefully, further back,
not directly underneath,
but still where the morning sun
can reach me.
I do not wish to disturb
the brooding and feeding
in the nest, so I move
with as much
slowness, and control,
and something like flow,
as I can.
I rise up, on a deep inhale,
and as I look up to the tree,
with opening leaves,
I see the pigeon’s soft underside –
pale grey, and pink, downy,
ready to warm eggs,
ready to nurture young,
and somehow,
I feel nurtured too,
to be here, included
in its care,
in the softness of
pigeon down.