föstudagur, nóvember 10, 2006


Were you a pilgrim or an eater of doves? You were sitting unconcernedly on the copper roof across the way, five floors up. Dark back, dark head with the barest light ring almost all the way around. More a torc than a necklace. Wind ruffled the feathers of your breast - light-colored. Were you a peregrin? You might have been. You seemed too big to be a merlin, but your tail was long and barred, and the feathers on your legs were white, white. You were looking off to the southeast. No other birds dared anywhere near you.

I will think of you as a merlin, a dove-eater.

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