carvngintowater (carvngintowater) wrote,

more, because i am fluid now

the pigeon...i wrote about him when it was happening, and it seemed mushy and unfocused. perhaps this will be less mushy, and therefore less unfocused (the storm of typing is starting up again, but i don't care because i really do have something to say and i am not showing off). he was by himself -this is what made me notice him. he looked like a piece of garbage or an overused stuffed animal who is saggy and without shape. i stopped because it was weird that he was laying there, and i wanted him to get up and be a normal, personalityless pigeon. but he stayed still. i walked nearer, he puffed up, his eye was slanted and wary, but tired. so i sat down, and that day i randomly had chips in my bag. after i threw a few down i realized what was wrong, as he tried to reach them without moving his body, and the mangy feathers along his neck fanned out as he craned it to peck at them. i almost swallowed my tongue i was so saddened (really). his legs were horribly swollen and gnarled, and he couldn't stand on them, so he couldn't perch in trees or anything, and just laid there. i wanted to pick him up and hold him, or put him out of his misery, but i never thought to actually intervein beyond giving him some crumbs of chips. later on, people would ask me why i didn't put him in a shoe box and give him to a veterenarian or something. i would be confused and a bit insulted at that question, at first offended with myself, and then with the askers. but then, i was just still and amazed, and unaware for a few moments that other people were probably noticing some girl sitting in the grass near the sidewalk looking at a bird as if it were giving its last will and testament. in a way, it was, and i wanted to be there for it. with every movement it made, i felt all the more a part of its life, and more and more concerned with seeing it through. i saw something dying inside of it, right along side the perservering awareness of its surroundings, its instincts, its need to keep clean (well, as clean as pigeons are) and fed, and all of that. it was preening all of the time, even as the other pigeons stayed away from it and ignored it...but for some reason, it was not afraid of me. as more of the crumbs fell, and less of them were in his reach, some of the other pigeons took notice and flew down to steal them. and then there were five, six, seven of the, surrounding him without seeing him, stepping on him for the food he could not reach was disturbing and very dramatic, and so much a parable of how i sometimes see my life, especially at that time. my head was dipping under the current of unfinished assignments and days without practice. i was in ASL class, and was finding it very difficult to be passionate about the language. this is my problem, i can't do things because they need to be done. i have to be excited about it, and optimistic, and passionate, and impatient to see the results. i am very much still a little girl inside.
this is perhaps why the pigeon drew me in so quickly and so completely. i saw him suffering, and he seemed so much an animal that he wasn't angered by the injustice of the healthy pigeons stealing his food. he seemed so passive, and i realized later on that he would do the same thing to another pigeon if his feet were working and the others' wasn't. the whole thing made me very quiet and unsettled. i didn't know what i was going to do, until suddenly this big white dog ran up to where i was sitting and scared all of the pigeons away. i didn't notice the dog, only that the pigeons errupted in a loud flappy fluttering, leaving the grass , and me. i looked around, and the hurt one was gone, had taken flight just as swiftly as the rest, and was no where to be seen. above me, they were just an ocean of grey wings, and none of them looked sickly or unable to survive...i felt sickly though, suddenly aware that i was missing another ASL class, and that i had spent the entire time watching a bird.
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