This very sorry looking thing was in the garden the other day. I did not want to scare it as it had already demonstrated that, with its torn and mutilated tail, flying was not its forte. I'd never seen a pigeon whose face looked so drawn. It was starving. It's probably dead by now. I did leave bird food out where I first saw it. Just in case. Someone's pecked at it but it could be anyone: magpies, blackbirds, finches, sparrows, possible thrushes and starlings.
What's it like to be a pigeon alone? They are social. Pigeons navigate faster in a flock. They have more chance against raptors. And cats. Even herring can die of loneliness.
And what of me? I have lost one friend. Another is a rarer conversationalist these days. Circumstances. Daylight hours. Lockdown. And I don't really seek out my fellows. I seldom make first contact.
Funny, I was talking to Richard about this. I assume that it doesn't really matter to people whether I am there or not. They might say, let's meet up. They like the idea - it's something to do. If I say no, that's offensive to them not because they want so much to be with me but because it means that I am effectively disrespecting them. I say yes so as not to offend them, because I don't want to make them feel unliked or undervalued. But I never think that they like or value me. I suppose, in writing this, I don't like and value others. Gosh. I am a misanthrope. I do assume it's mutual, though. And it's not that I don't think they are likable or valuable it's just that most of the time I'd rather do my own thing. I guess I'm not a social animal.
But in my viscera I am. When the maxillofacial surgeon touched my face in a check up in July I started to cry. It was the first time someone had touched me for moths. Likewise when my fried 'saw' me, did the 'thou' thing. Or when Ben 'understood' me. Clearly it does matter.
I can't though seem to make it count.
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