From my desk I see the crowns of a few massive beech trees on the hill beyond my garden. Come autumn, tons of leaves used to smother my mossy lawn until, thankfully, the branches were cut back last year. Wood pigeons value the majestic view across town from up there, as much as they like gobbling up my Stella cherries before I ever have the slightest chance of harvesting them. And yet, I like the pigeons’ cooing code by which they talk to each other in spring, and I find their peculiar waddling, neck-pushing walk in search of worms 
amusing. Presently the bare branches of the beeches show the pigeons’ constellation throughout the day, bringing on some thoughts … and a Haiku.
at beech tree junction
each morning the ruler lands
sometimes with a mate
later the pigeons gather
and debate migrants
they conclude – not our problem
skies are border-less
Re: migrants, given the human longing for belonging, it is the brave feat of ‘exits,’ people who leave their birth land for whatever reason, which expands tolerance, as well as emotional and intellectual independence from the collective pull towards loyalty for any one group or ideology.
Recently I came upon this quote by Italo Calvino, which resonates:
‘The ideal place for me is the one in which it is most natural to live as a foreigner.’ – Italo Calvino
Course of Mirrors 