Trading Places

The cool morning breeze was delightful and quite dreamy; tacked against a recent freshly-painted bench of gray, I was enjoying my delicious break-fast: bacon with eggs and steaming hot coffee, hoping to feel full... The unhesitant,slender pigeons quickly came around craving my food: cooing with relief and a joy so incredible in their cheerful sounds of noon, to feed on the scattered bread-crumbs by the swaying birch tree: where no one was undesiderable; where all could gather to share their agony... I wanted to show them my generosity, giving them most of my toast, which never goes to waste; and as they surroundered me with amicability, their daring and scary eyes sparkled with thankfulness as some staggered on their scrawny feet: hunger and need were a display of that unimaginable misery... I did not see babes following them; they surely waited in their cosy and camouflaged nest so unseen by restless predators and hunters! One courageous,friendly pigeon fled to my left with swiftness, slightly touching the dandelions covered with sparkling dew; he asked for more bread with a convincing coo... And though my break-fast was humble, enough to make them fumble; my only reward was to see them eat, feed them on those Sunday mornings and make them my little companions; but to feel their hunger,so explicit, I have to trade places indeed...