About the work

The pigeon on the sill was there for a moment before they noticed it. It had tucked its head under its wing, unfazed by the gathering rain, a small grey statue against the blurred city. One of them pointed. They paused their conversation, leaning in slightly, as if the bird might hear them. Maybe they thought it was looking for shelter, or maybe it was just waiting for the downpour to pass. Either way, they watched it, for a beat, before turning back to the twilight. The bus pulled away, leaving the pigeon exactly where it was.