Dear woodpigeon,
I'm sorry to disturb you at what is obviously a busy time for you. I've seen you bringing twigs deep into the ivy-twined heart of one of the hawthorn trees in our garden, so you are obviously starting to build a nest again. I just wanted to tell you how much I admire your plumage.
I think many people overlook you because your species has done quite well in urban and rural areas, and because - at first glance - you appear to be an unremarkable grey colour. However, when I'm taking a brief break from the screen to rest my eyes and I look closely at you in the hawthorn trees, your plumage is extraordinary. The colours on the feathers of your chest are like the sky in winter, just before sunrise. They blend smoothly between a delicate peach, dusky pink and warm grey, and every time I look, I think I see another subtle shade there. The grey blends into the feathers of your body and wings, so all is one beautiful, smooth gradient. And then there's your white collar, so crisp against the other softer colours. The texture of the feathers there makes it look as if rain has run your plumage into channels. It's such a contrast to the flawless surface of your body feathers. Even here, there's a surprise for those willing to notice: a splash of iridescent green among the white feathers which flashes as you turn your head and catch the light.
I'm sorry to disturb you at what is obviously a busy time for you. I've seen you bringing twigs deep into the ivy-twined heart of one of the hawthorn trees in our garden, so you are obviously starting to build a nest again. I just wanted to tell you how much I admire your plumage.
I think many people overlook you because your species has done quite well in urban and rural areas, and because - at first glance - you appear to be an unremarkable grey colour. However, when I'm taking a brief break from the screen to rest my eyes and I look closely at you in the hawthorn trees, your plumage is extraordinary. The colours on the feathers of your chest are like the sky in winter, just before sunrise. They blend smoothly between a delicate peach, dusky pink and warm grey, and every time I look, I think I see another subtle shade there. The grey blends into the feathers of your body and wings, so all is one beautiful, smooth gradient. And then there's your white collar, so crisp against the other softer colours. The texture of the feathers there makes it look as if rain has run your plumage into channels. It's such a contrast to the flawless surface of your body feathers. Even here, there's a surprise for those willing to notice: a splash of iridescent green among the white feathers which flashes as you turn your head and catch the light.
I love your call too. I know some people (forgive me) find it a bit monotonous, but for me it evokes full summer and that drowsy point mid-afternoon when the heat lies like a blanket and the other birds tend to go quiet. Your voice adds to the voluptuous feeling of drifting between the worlds of wake and sleep. I think that might be why your call also reminds me of being a child, waking up in a caravan on holiday early in the year, and listening to the voices of your species drifting through the cold mist of dawn as I drifted in and out of sleep. Your call had the cadence of words to me: "I do want something, I do want something...". I always wondered sleepily what it was that you wanted.
What you probably want right now is to get back to building your nest, so I'll let you get on.
Yours, in love and admiration,
bsag
What you probably want right now is to get back to building your nest, so I'll let you get on.
Yours, in love and admiration,
bsag