How do I know that it is the same pigeon? (See yesterday's post and the question it raises). A good question, which I ask myself . There are a variety of possible answers.
1 It has a distinctive two-tone wing squeak, which another pigeon could not mistake.
11 It writes in its blog that it regularly meets the same old fool of a man in the same place (ie the corner of Mount Sion and Berkeley Road) Coincidence?
iii I always meet it (or another pigeon) flying at the same height, level with my head, in the same direction. If I look quickly enough, it winks at me in a familiar way.
Big white clouds today and in between deep patches of blue. Azure is not a word I would normally use, considering it the preserve of Romantic poets. But today the sky behind the clouds is azure.
When I wake up early in the morning I tend to think. If you can call it thinking. But in reality my mind just goes round in circles chewing up and regurgitating the same thoughts. I think: Real thinking is like climbing a rock face. You search for footholds and hand holds. You pull yourself up, with strength and confidence. You achieve a firm and steady rhythm. At the top you know where you are and where you have been. And even where you have yet to go.