As oxygen to hope

February 22, 2010

Pecking at scraps of bok choy and bitter melon, they are simply pigeons. They scurry to the side as I pass, glancing at me sideways from red-rimmed, beady eyes.

But, from my morning view overlooking Chinatown, I watch flight transform them. In the pale morning light, flocks swirl through the air like breath, arc like an audible sigh, turn as sharply as that quick intake just before lips meet. In the sky above the lacquered signs and carved lion faces, they are as oxygen to hope.

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