The Rooks Have Gone

A wood pigeon softly calls, hidden in the tall pine trees. Late July now. I notice the gentle sound. A moment of awareness.

All through the spring, frenetic activity, raucous calling. All but the nearest bird song overwhelmed by The Rookery.

The Rooks have gone now. A new generation flown. Another year. I am awake to this moment. To the flow of time.

Awakened by The Pigeon.




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