The MET was closed today being Monday, but around 5:30 this evening just above its rooftop heading southeast was a splendid exhibition of natural art.
...and there was no fee for looking
At the end of the evening I came to rest on my favorite bench somewhat satisfied with the images I captured for the day. I leaned back and admired the moon peering through the jagged spaces of the buildings along Fifth Avenue. It was then that this scrawny pigeon caught my eye. She was perched on that sturdy London Plane limb stretching across the path in front of The Hawk Bench and reaching just over the stone bank of the pond.
She sat quietly and soaked up some faint rays of moonlight on her weary back. Such a simple, humble life she has, I thought, but one that is so tough--a daily struggle to scrape the barren paths and sidewalks in and around Central Park for fragments of barely digestible food, and to make it back up to this London Plane for one more nightís sleep.
Looking up at her made me wonder if she ever gave thought, perhaps in the moments before she falls asleep at night, as to why she was born.
By the way the Moon crept up behind the Carlyle and allowed the little pigeonís outline to be scribed on its big bright face, I felt like he was telling me that she is one of his prized possessions and a creature that he takes pride in casting down his gentle rays of light upon. Just then I thought I could feel her tiny heart beating and her little tired eyes slowly closing to have a peaceful nightís sleep.
My own eyes slowly closed as I dozed off for a moment, but not before I silently wished all the humble creatures like my little friend perched above my head with the Moon caressing her soft feathers, a good night.