A solitary pidgeon perches on a telegraph pole
And sings her call.
Other than her, the world is quiet.
The constant rush of rubber on tarmac
Has finally ceased.
Gone, the mechanical birds, bees and bugs
Filling the air with their droning busyness.
The warm wind has dropped to hush the rustling.
Even the neighbourhood dogs
Respect the silence and sleep soundly.
The only noise is that of sunshine
And nature exhaling her contentment.
The pidgeon starts!
And takes to the air.