Pigeon Story© “I swear to you by my last tail feather, that I heard the ‘Great Pigeon’ stirring,” cheeped Pigeon Longtail. The excited bird twittered inconsolably as she addressed the groups of sceptical flutterers who graced the roof of the Holiday Inn on The Hoe, in the town of Plymouth. “The Great Pigeon is only a story,” chirruped a puffed-up matriarch pigeon called Moonchest. Amongst pigeon kind, legend told of the ‘Great Pigeon’, who lived in the centre of the earth; her body forming part of Dartmoor and her beak buried beneath the offshore rocks of the Devon Coast. Of course, no bird had ever seen or heard the Great Pigeon; that is, until today, when Longtail made her unbelievable claim. She was quite adamant! Being a nervous and flighty bird, she was prone to imagination and known to be impressionable, but despite the disbelief of her companions, she insisted that she had encountered the divine avian deity. “Not only did I hear the Great Pigeon rasping with her deep healing voice, but I actually felt the ground moving as her great chest vibrated in harmony for all the pigeons of the world to hear,” insisted Longtail. “Well, she didn’t call to me,” replied the elderly Moonchest, “and I’ve lived here long enough to know that if the Great Pigeon had something to say, she would definitely speak to me.” She ruffed her feathers, annoyed at having her status lowered by an inferior pigeon. “I believe you,” piped in a young blue-tinged pigeon named Bluebeak. Encouraged, Longtail decided to stand her ground. “I’ll take you to the place when I felt her presence,” insisted Longtail, “You must follow me and then you will believe what I say is true.” Reluctantly, Moonchest agreed to be taken to where the Great Divine Pigeon’s was said to rest, and together with a group of 10 birds, they lifted off across the rooftop landscape and flew in a symmetrical formation, over a mile away from the coast to an inland district of Plymouth called Mutley. Landing on the highest rooftop, Longtail stated proudly, “Here, not one hour ago, the Great Pigeon spoke to me.” The birds cooed their greetings to the Great Pigeon, preening their feathers and fluttering their wings. “Speak to us, Great Pigeon, “ called Moonchest in her most spiritually pigeon-like voice, heaving her powerful sternum to show her strength. After a period of ducking and weaving the band fell silent. Moonchest pecked at Longtail in disgust. “This has been a wild goose chase,” Moonchest hissed. Longtail looked embarrassed. “But I know I felt her!” she insisted behind her beak. “I believe you heard her, Longtail,” murmured Bluebeak. She sidled up to Longtail and lowered her head appreciatively in respect. “I will keep vigil with you. We will see if the Great Pigeon returns, ” she cooed. Huffily, Moonchest and the other pigeons flew away, finding the prospect of lunchtime crumbs in the town centre more enticing than the Mutely rooftop. They were also relishing a chance to tell other pigeons of Longtail’s bizarre claim. There would be plenty plenty to gossip today as they waited beside the outdoor tables of Plymouth city centre for the pasty flakes off the tables. Before long, almost every pigeon in Plymouth knew the Great Pigeon was said to have visited Mutley. Some believed it; others were sceptical, rejecting the story as the handiwork of a foolish troublemaker. For days, an entourage of pigeons could be seen flying regularly over Mutley, landing on the roof in question, or pecking curiosity around the gardens and tool sheds in the general vicinity. Longtail and Bluebeak continued their vigil. Remorseful with humiliation, Longtail clung to the hope that she was not deceived and the Great Pigeon really did live at this sacred spot. One day, as they sat huddled on the roof, the Great Pigeon raise her voice and spoke again. Her lilt was a deep and raspy, regular and harmonious; more sweet than any pigeon could ever sing, and as regular as the rhythm of the earth. Back and forth, back and forth; the strains of the Great Pigeon’s soothing tones reached a pinnacle of harmony, and then reversed, sliding back down an octave before the she drew breath and repeated the melodic sequence. The deep and cooing vibrations of the Great Pigeon’s vocal chords were so marvellous and demonstrated her love of pigeon kind so deeply, that the music touched the very souls of Longwing and Bluebeak, whose delighted tweeting tones were heard by a group of passing pigeons. “Oh come down quickly, come now!” called Longtail, “She speaks! She speaks!” Swooping down, a band of 25 birds, led by Moonchest landed on the rooftop. As their feet touched the slate tiles, the deep healing vibrations of the Great Pigeon rose through their thin pink legs and into their hearts. “Oh glorious day,” cried the band, “The Great Pigeon speaks.” The band were so lulled into a trance by the harmony of the sound and the total beauty of the cooing vibrations, that they fell into rapturous praise and worship. When the noise stopped, a profound satisfaction glowed through the feathery occupants of the rooftop. “This day shall live forever in our hearts,” announced one of the followers. “We give thanks to Longtail’s vigilance, for without her, we would never have experienced the voice of the Great Pigeon.” At that moment, there was a mocking squawk from Moonchest. She had fluttered onto an adjoining roof and was peering into a window of the human habitation. “You dolts!” she chortled. “Come and look here!” The band joined her. Inside the window, the rays of sun revealed a human person sitting on a long metal device. He wore a towel around his neck, and was sweating profusely. “This is no Great Pigeon!” Moonchest declared with a peck in the direction of the Longtail. “The human is making the noise. I saw him! He pulls his arms up and down and slides back and forth along that piece of metal. His movement caused the vibrations you feel. You are all fools. He pretends to row as if he has a boat on water. Your “Great Pigeon” is a rowing machine!” she laughed. Longtail could hardly believe Moonchest’s cruel words. However, moments later, the rower climbed back onto his device and the vibrations started again. So powerful were his actions that the wooden floor of the old house transmitted the vibrations of the machine into the roof, and the sliding tones reverberating throughout the whole structure and into the feet of the attendant pigeons. For a moment, doubt graced the faces of a few of the weaker pigeons, however Moonchest’s persuasive arguments won the day. How could the Great Pigeon possibly exist if the noise was made by a human device? Disgraced and saddened, Longtail huddled against a chimney pot for warmth. The other pigeons took flight, heading towards the town. The excitement was over. Only Bluebeak remained beside Longtail, shocked that only moments before she had been in the presence of the Pigeon God, only to have the magic of the divine presence dashed to pieces by Moonchest. They had all observed the man, who appeared to be unaware that his actions caused the heavenly delusion. “I still believe that the Great Pigeon exists.” Bluebeak comforted Longtail. “I felt her, too” cooed Longtail, “I really did feel the presence of the Great Pigeon. I know she exists! No pigeon will ever persuade me that she was not with us,” “I too, believe,” cheeped in Bluebeak, “for though this human was the means, I believe the Great Pigeon worked through him.” Longtail was silent. No one would ever take away her moment of great joy, love and understanding. In the bowels of the earth, Mother Earth’s guardian, Gaia, tenderly held the spirit of the Great Pigeon God to her breast. The giant bird cooed lovingly in her arms. “You see, for one moment they believed,” Gaia whispered. “Yes, they did,” replied the Great Pigeon.

3.The Seagull ©
4.Ignorance©

Pigeon Story©

“I swear to you by my last tail feather, that I heard the ‘Great Pigeon’ stirring,” cheeped Pigeon Longtail.

The excited bird twittered inconsolably as she addressed the groups of sceptical flutterers who graced the roof of the Holiday Inn on The Hoe, in the town of Plymouth.

“The Great Pigeon is only a story,” chirruped a puffed-up matriarch pigeon called Moonchest.

Amongst pigeon kind, legend told of the ‘Great Pigeon’, who lived in the centre of the earth; her body forming part of Dartmoor and her beak buried beneath the offshore rocks of the Devon Coast. Of course, no bird had ever seen or heard the Great Pigeon; that is, until today, when Longtail made her unbelievable claim. She was quite adamant! Being a nervous and flighty bird, she was prone to imagination and known to be impressionable, but despite the disbelief of her companions, she insisted that she had encountered the divine avian deity.

“Not only did I hear the Great Pigeon rasping with her deep healing voice, but I actually felt the ground moving as her great chest vibrated in harmony for all the pigeons of the world to hear,” insisted Longtail.

“Well, she didn’t call to me,” replied the elderly Moonchest, “and I’ve lived here long enough to know that if the Great Pigeon had something to say, she would definitely speak to me.”

She ruffed her feathers, annoyed at having her status lowered by an inferior pigeon.

“I believe you,” piped in a young blue-tinged pigeon named Bluebeak.

Encouraged, Longtail decided to stand her ground.

“I’ll take you to the place when I felt her presence,” insisted Longtail, “You must follow me and then you will believe what I say is true.”

Reluctantly, Moonchest agreed to be taken to where the Great Divine Pigeon’s was said to rest, and together with a group of 10 birds, they lifted off across the rooftop landscape and flew in a symmetrical formation, over a mile away from the coast to an inland district of Plymouth called Mutley. Landing on the highest rooftop, Longtail stated proudly,

“Here, not one hour ago, the Great Pigeon spoke to me.”

The birds cooed their greetings to the Great Pigeon, preening their feathers and fluttering their wings.

“Speak to us, Great Pigeon, “ called Moonchest in her most spiritually pigeon-like voice, heaving her powerful sternum to show her strength.

After a period of ducking and weaving the band fell silent. Moonchest pecked at Longtail in disgust.

“This has been a wild goose chase,” Moonchest hissed.

Longtail looked embarrassed.

“But I know I felt her!” she insisted behind her beak.

“I believe you heard her, Longtail,” murmured Bluebeak. She sidled up to Longtail and lowered her head appreciatively in respect.

“I will keep vigil with you. We will see if the Great Pigeon returns, ” she cooed.

Huffily, Moonchest and the other pigeons flew away, finding the prospect of lunchtime crumbs in the town centre more enticing than the Mutely rooftop. They were also relishing a chance to tell other pigeons of Longtail’s bizarre claim. There would be plenty plenty to gossip today as they waited beside the outdoor tables of Plymouth city centre for the pasty flakes off the tables.

Before long, almost every pigeon in Plymouth knew the Great Pigeon was said to have visited Mutley. Some believed it; others were sceptical, rejecting the story as the handiwork of a foolish troublemaker. For days, an entourage of pigeons could be seen flying regularly over Mutley, landing on the roof in question, or pecking curiosity around the gardens and tool sheds in the general vicinity.

Longtail and Bluebeak continued their vigil. Remorseful with humiliation, Longtail clung to the hope that she was not deceived and the Great Pigeon really did live at this sacred spot.

One day, as they sat huddled on the roof, the Great Pigeon raise her voice and spoke again. Her lilt was a deep and raspy, regular and harmonious; more sweet than any pigeon could ever sing, and as regular as the rhythm of the earth. Back and forth, back and forth; the strains of the Great Pigeon’s soothing tones reached a pinnacle of harmony, and then reversed, sliding back down an octave before the she drew breath and repeated the melodic sequence. The deep and cooing vibrations of the Great Pigeon’s vocal chords were so marvellous and demonstrated her love of pigeon kind so deeply, that the music touched the very souls of Longwing and Bluebeak, whose delighted tweeting tones were heard by a group of passing pigeons.

“Oh come down quickly, come now!” called Longtail, “She speaks! She speaks!”

Swooping down, a band of 25 birds, led by Moonchest landed on the rooftop. As their feet touched the slate tiles, the deep healing vibrations of the Great Pigeon rose through their thin pink legs and into their hearts.

“Oh glorious day,” cried the band, “The Great Pigeon speaks.”

The band were so lulled into a trance by the harmony of the sound and the total beauty of the cooing vibrations, that they fell into rapturous praise and worship. When the noise stopped, a profound satisfaction glowed through the feathery occupants of the rooftop.

“This day shall live forever in our hearts,” announced one of the followers. “We give thanks to Longtail’s vigilance, for without her, we would never have experienced the voice of the Great Pigeon.”

At that moment, there was a mocking squawk from Moonchest. She had fluttered onto an adjoining roof and was peering into a window of the human habitation.

“You dolts!” she chortled. “Come and look here!”

The band joined her. Inside the window, the rays of sun revealed a human person sitting on a long metal device. He wore a towel around his neck, and was sweating profusely.

“This is no Great Pigeon!” Moonchest declared with a peck in the direction of the Longtail. “The human is making the noise. I saw him! He pulls his arms up and down and slides back and forth along that piece of metal. His movement caused the vibrations you feel. You are all fools. He pretends to row as if he has a boat on water. Your “Great Pigeon” is a rowing machine!” she laughed.

Longtail could hardly believe Moonchest’s cruel words. However, moments later, the rower climbed back onto his device and the vibrations started again. So powerful were his actions that the wooden floor of the old house transmitted the vibrations of the machine into the roof, and the sliding tones reverberating throughout the whole structure and into the feet of the attendant pigeons.

For a moment, doubt graced the faces of a few of the weaker pigeons, however Moonchest’s persuasive arguments won the day. How could the Great Pigeon possibly exist if the noise was made by a human device?

Disgraced and saddened, Longtail huddled against a chimney pot for warmth. The other pigeons took flight, heading towards the town. The excitement was over. Only Bluebeak remained beside Longtail, shocked that only moments before she had been in the presence of the Pigeon God, only to have the magic of the divine presence dashed to pieces by Moonchest. They had all observed the man, who appeared to be unaware that his actions caused the heavenly delusion.

“I still believe that the Great Pigeon exists.” Bluebeak comforted Longtail.

“I felt her, too” cooed Longtail, “I really did feel the presence of the Great Pigeon. I know she exists! No pigeon will ever persuade me that she was not with us,”

“I too, believe,” cheeped in Bluebeak, “for though this human was the means, I believe the Great Pigeon worked through him.”

Longtail was silent. No one would ever take away her moment of great joy, love and understanding.

In the bowels of the earth, Mother Earth’s guardian, Gaia, tenderly held the spirit of the Great Pigeon God to her breast. The giant bird cooed lovingly in her arms.

“You see, for one moment they believed,” Gaia whispered.

“Yes, they did,” replied the Great Pigeon.