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NEW YORK - About twenty pigeons, spirits of the air, have chosen to roost on the first floor ledge of my building today. I know that some people revile pigeons and think of them as flying pigs, but they don't provoke a strong emotion in me one way or the other. I think of them simply as other birds. I have always had a affinity for the spirits of the air, though my especial spirit familiars are butterflies.
It has been so long since I actually had to submit any copy here to DAY ONE that I approached today's piece with a little trepidation. Not because of a lack of resource material --- my Story file is bursting, in fact --- but because I am not in the mood today to tackle the weighty (and mostly depressing) topics waiting in my queue.
I just don't feel "weighty" today. I once joked in a discussion group about an editor of mine who expected me to sound like Marcel Proust every time. One of the other members of the group quipped that "even Marcel Proust didn't sound like Marcel Proust every day." And that is true.
So if you came to this DAY ONE expecting something more than the influence of the spirits of the air, some "heavy lifting" as one writer I know used to call it, you picked the wrong day. Click back to one of the earlier entries.
Back to spirits of the air: I am quite pleased to report that there are no crows in my neighborhood here in Manhattan. "Pleased" because in San Francisco, and every place I have nested since leaving there, crows were always part of the landscape, along with their mawkish caw-ing. The call of the crow is one of those sounds that I find distinctly unpleasant, so I am overjoyed not to have to deal with it here.
You see, I very much associate place with the life in the air. Right below the call of the crow, I place that piercing squeal of the jay. Another airborne abomination.
When I think of my time in Egypt, on the other hand, I always think of those gasps of doves which took to the air in the early morning hours. In my mind's eye, I always see them turning from white to golden in the morning sunlight as they flipped into the sun's rays while changing direction. A truly beautiful sight to behold that was.
Of course, this is not the season for butterflies. I believe I was buzzed by my last one over a month ago. I must now wait for spring before I enjoy that special pleasure again.
For now, I content myself with the low crooning of the pigeons roosting at my building. I marvel as a clutch of them comes sailing up my street, in the canyon between the buildings, like miniature galleons sailing on the invisible currents above....
Rod Amis has published G21: The World's Magazine on the web since March, 1996. He is a freelance writer and editor who resides in New York City. Mr. Amis' work has also been featured in the San Francisco Bay Guardian Online, NRV8, and Suite 101. He is the daily editorial writer for IT Manager's Journal, and writes a weekly column on working the web for Andover News Network.
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