The scene: we have all seen it, the (generally) older person sitting alone on a park bench, next to some nondescript lake or pond (usually man made with a tree behind them), gathering about a flock of pigeon disciples all willing to take in the raining down of leftover bread bites all to the chagrin of the performance runners who might have to step one step out of their way (with a slight sneer) due to the feathery congregation…

I think we are not as far up the food chain as we might imagine, our daily flocking and pecking is surely more dressed up than the purity of nature between morsel and mouth, all wrapped up in a procession of our perception of what we aren’t doing (but actually are, in truth), who is the person on the park bench throwing out the ‘crumbs’ we flock to? whether it be prada or godiva or lady gaga or the NFL, is our importance (pause for a selfie) more important than the pecking prods of seemingly pleasant peasant pigeons positioning on top of a patch of asphalt? top to bottom fed, this is the way of things we perceive or more likely guess, but from our location (perch), on the proverbial bench in some metaphorical park, hand rustling about in that ubiquitous brown paper bag, we dispense what passes as vittles to those below, looking down, perhaps we should pause for a second (pause) and look… up (and wonder). perspective, pass it on.