The Pigeon and I

I spent a sunny afternoon by the sea, conversing with a pigeon. 

He had little to say, only that I should, " keep an eye out. "

He squawked in that indignant pigeon way, wordlessly punctuating his vast superiority.

Ruffling his feathers he hopped from one foot to the other, flaunting his unquestionable beauty.

When I thought he would speak no more, he spoke again.

This time he said even less, only that I should ", not wait around."

It is very like a pigeon to remain mysterious. 

When he was finished speaking he strutted off. 

I watched him as he went, bobbing his walnut sized head.

Before that moment, I had never contemplated the wisdom of pigeons.

Perhaps this particular creature was an anomaly, a genetic mutation designed to confound me.

The ancient tombs remain silent, as do scholars. 

All that remains is the memory, and the wisdom he left me.