A Letter to the Wood Pigeons.

Dear Wood Pigeons,

For thousands of years, humankind has gazed enviously skyward, marvelling at birds and their capacity for flight.  In fact, in terms of what they wish they could achieve, unassisted flight comes second only to invisibility in the imagination of most humans.  I often speculate on what I would do if I could fly.  Liberated from the monetary and bureaucratic constraints that hamper human travel, I would certainly want to explore new and exotic places, and would love to experience the freedom of unrestricted movement in three dimensions, unfettered by the chains of gravity.  I would use the power of flight to better my knowledge of geography and landscape too, and would probably marvel at the altered perspective on both natural and man-made features that the ability to fly would accord me.

In the town that I live - York - we have one of the wonders of the medieval world; York Minster.  As a man, I can only climb to the top of the tower using an internal staircase; but as birds, you are free to explore all of the features and details of the exterior - and interior - of this magnificent building.  And I know that you know of York Minster, because you can see it from where you're sitting right now.

So, that's what I would do with flight if I had the gift.  So what is it that you use it for?  Where to start?

You use the wondrous power of flight to gain access to my roof - the area of it directly above my bed - from where you uproariously and insistently bellow "coo coooo coo cu cu" from dawn to late-afternoon.  You also use your peculiar avian talent to swoop down and shit on my garden gate, accurately covering it in your excrement with astounding consistency, up to four times per day.  To you, the gift of flight is an instrument that you use to terrorise my cat, who is now afraid to go into the garden.  You use your flying power to access next door's lovely maple tree, which you are tearing to pieces with astonishing rapidity, and when you tire of flying, you use your spare time to sit about.  Look!  Here you are lounging on my garden furniture.

Wood Pigeons, this is not good enough.  You clearly lack ambition.  The power that you could be using for your own enlightenment and betterment, you are squandering on the petty torment of man and cat.  Wood pigeons, rise up, realise that your great talent can propel you to a richer, more illuminated and fulfilled existence and then fuck off and leave us alone!  Yours sincerely,

Marc Fearns