A young wood pigeon, not much more than a
nestling seems, at first, to be sheltering,
from the almost Mediterranean heat,
in the short shadows cast by the pots
of lilies and lavender. But, closer,
I see it is limping, its left foot damaged.
Seeing me, it hobbles out of sight
into an exotic, Sleeping Beauty-type
border of camellia, crocosmia,
rhododendron. Later, an adult bird
lands, walks the edge of the border,
its head bobbing, then flies away.