in the gardens, I can’t resist whistling out the calls. The geese come over in V formation twice a day, from the marsh out by the Old Vic and heading for the flats around the Perch, you can hear their lungs and wings pumping. And there are pigeons in the cedar, they sit and guano the cars in the yard. They don’t seem to bother the guy with the Porsche, everyone else gets hit. This afternoon I heard a collision overhead, still heat and a haze in the air from the sun sinking into the Meadow. There was a thunk as two pigeons struck, and the feather tumbled and curled before my eyes. I reached out for it, the way you try to catch a leaf or a snowflake, funny you never stop reaching, but I’m not as quick as I used to be. It settled on the tarmac by my feet and I kept walking, didn’t stoop down for it.
