I wonder if the slight fear I feel in the dark, damp back alleys hidden in the shadow of large trees is because, as an adult, I’ve come to understand the world more than I thought.
This must have seemed like the perfect spot for this pigeon. A newly created, flat area where no one ever goes. Half of it is sheltered from the rain, and the netting blocks the view from outside. For days, she had scouted the location repeatedly, making sure no one would come, before finally starting to build her new nest.
But there was something I had to tell her. The reason no one had come was because the construction had been delayed by the rain. People would be passing through here tomorrow, and the scaffolding itself would be dismantled next week. Before she laid her eggs, she would have to move somewhere else.
I wasn’t sure if she would understand what I was saying, but I went to tell her anyway. When she saw a huge human suddenly appear, she panicked and never came back.
In that shop, where works by up-and-coming ceramic artists and traditional pottery were displayed haphazardly, I vaguely observed the way different eras intersected.