A Pigeon's Fancy (Poetry)

In the silver birch
outside our kitchen
window a pigeon
was building a nest
to-ing and fro-ing

every few minutes
with materials —
a twig or a leaf
clamped determindly
in his beak — edging

down a slippery
branch to disappear
behind a screen of
leaves where his mate sat
waiting patiently

It being August
and not April I
wondered about their
timing — was it a
phantom pregnancy?

After a few days
all building work stopped
the couple vanished
like it had been just
passing fancy — flown