Pigeon Pastries
Wednesday’s ritual/ my taciturn uncle/
in the park with hand baked muffins/
feeding pigeons//
Winter comes howling/ blizzard descending/
draping all in white grief/ silence lies heavy/
on the empty bench seat//
Warmth wraps/ his coat like/ a comforter/
there/ in the stillness his gaze met the ground/
no wings fluttered/ no sound to be found//
But then he could see/ from bushes
and trees/ one by one/ they came out/
starved for connection/
or pastries/
they answered his call/ as if they’d known/
he’d been worried for them all//
With pastries in hand/ despite winter's bite
he offered them slowly/ he scattered his kindness/
the warmth overflowed//
.
Funny/ in caring for creatures/
the cold world grew warm/ so let’s create /
spaces where kindness can flourish/
in the vastness of winter/
let helpfulness nourish//
For as pigeons find pastries in this fleeting expanse/
it’s in small acts of love that our souls find their chance//