There is a line of pigeons dancing in the square. Line dancing birds! They step quickly, left and right, shrugging shoulders to fluff their feathers. They slalom between clumps of snow that punctuate the cobblestones before breaking formation, scattering to dance their own choreography.
The next time I see them, they are in a line once more, this time on a roof ledge looking down on us. I watch one turn in circles, tapping his beak at something that must be food. Two others strut away, heads rocking forward and back with each step. They trade places and I wonder, was it planned? Did I miss the signal? It's fun to watch them lean into a fall over the ledge, then catch a current to sail down to the ground.
Are there clumsy birds? Is there one in the flock that fumbles for the branch as he attempts a landing or misjudges the distance to a wire? (Does he get teased for being the goof of the group?) Do they ever clip the wings of another bird in flight, or misunderstand directions only to wait alone in the park by the beach while the rest of the gang is feasting in the parking lot of the Beach Street Mall?
I would feel better about myself when I manage to catch the pocket of my sweater on a door knob (for the second time this morning) if I knew there were clumsy birds.
