In front of me on the perimeter of the ancient woodlands of Beckenham Place Park, my new favourite haunt, I saw a flock of wood pigeons pecking in the mud at whatever it is birds peck at to keep their beaks nice and muddy and their tummies full.
As I approached they lifted off as one and swept overhead into the gnarled trees.
With them a bright green wannabe appeared.
Startling but unnoticed up until now.
This emerald bird, camouflaged on the ground among its feathered friends, perched with its mates on a branch and stared down at me.
I was reminded of a red London bus I’d seen this summer with this oxymoron emblazoned along its side,
“Another Red Bus Going Green for London.”
I imagined this bright parakeet wearing a placard reading,
“Another Grey Pigeon Going Green for London!”
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