A pigeon flew into my new home and made it's nest here. Even before i had moved in.
Many years ago, i had destroyed a nest when i was a newly married young girl and had wanted everything in house to be perfect. No eggs in my perfectly vegetarian setup please.
This time i let the nest and the pigeons be.
Despite the littering and the pigeon poop that fell on the freshly-washed clothes. Well, then can be washed again quite easily, i said to myself. And if it's on the floor, sure, it's an eyesore, but i can just pretend it's not there.
There were two pigeons who would take turns in taking care of the egg. A white one with speckled feathers and a dark one who was just dark, boring grey. They'd fly out the moment someone stepped in to the verandah. I made sure I din't hang out there and let them incubate the egg in peace.
Till today. When the breeze at this house, that I loved dearly, blew the nest down. Down on the balcony floor lay a nest, that was unharmed. Egg-shells too that hadn't cracked. There was also a little yellow chick that didn't survive the fall.
No one is to blame for the mishap. Except all of us, who cut trees indiscriminately and leave no green behind.
So birds have to make nests in small ledges instead of trees and live at the mercy of the wind, heartless folks like the old me and heaven-knows-what.
Both the pigeons are still hanging out there. The balcony feels weirdly empty without the nest. I am hoping they will rebuild their nest in the cane basket i have placed there, lay eggs, and hatch them.