Pigeon Poop

On quite the quiet afternoon of non-committal meetings, I walked in the park off 8th avenue.  Whereupon entering the park, the fortune of pigeon poop on my head touched lightly on the front fluff of my hair, shielding the green splatter from oozing down my face.  And thereupon I sat down, unfluffed by my good fortune, opened my bag, and cleaned up the pot of gold dumped on me.

For some melancholic reason, today's been a reflective one, of the past that never ceases to dump upon me again.  Yet, each time my reaction differs from the previous, and I believe some call this development.  Funny that development doesn't necessarily mean progress and improvement as it is generally understood in modern day parlance.  Or maybe that is what people are insinuating when they note this.  Nonetheless, I can't believe that development necessitates progress and improvement as our lives today clearly indicate.

Looking through blacked out glasses, I read for a bit, and then looked up to watch the leaves wavering thoughtfully as clouds stretched and distorted in the background, finally bursting into clarity, through which I saw the clear blue sky that I probably did not have to see, in fact, to know it was there waiting for me all along. 

On that note, a pigeon wafted not so ungracefully up to the branch floating above my head, and I hesitated as the bough seemed to weigh pensively under the weight of its new visitor.  I zipped up my bag, readying to flee the scene in fear of another lucky charm bestowing itself upon my head.  But I waited and stared upwards at the fowl anus aimed directly at my face at that moment, just to tempt the fates and fortune.  A breeze blew by and the pigeon fluttered off, and I relaxed.

While I stared intently at the various muses that stopped or floated by to inspire my insipid thoughts, I breathed slightly and crossed my legs, lifting them from the shallow puddle under the bench.  As I remained uninspired, another pigeon happened upon the same bough above, and I again stared fate in the ass.  Unfortunately, I wasn't so brave as to be too much the temptress, so this time I did pack up and leave promptly, smiling to myself at the decision to leave that fortunate spot, fortunate enough to avoid the mess.  Some might call this development, but, again, I'm not so sure it was the right action to take, and not so sure that consequences would have been as unfavorable as I thought they might have been.