I’ve spent the majority of my life as a Floridian—heatstroke summers, sweat-soaked denim, 70 degree Christmases—so when I visited Lubbock this past February, I was in awe of the cold. I walked the Texas Tech University campus shivering in three layers of sweaters and a cotton scarf not made for real winter.
The early sun through the birch trees formed bright patches on the sidewalk, but they were not any warmer than the shadows. Still, I hurried along to stand in them, nestling my chin farther down into my too-light scarf. When I reached the library, I stopped to admire its trellis-like façade of stacked circles. After a moment, I heard a quiet humming from above.
A flock of pigeons had taken up roost in the library’s exterior, poking only their shiny heads or feathered tails out from the hollow circles. The tenants flew into and out of their little apartment cubbies, some exchanging rooms with a friend, some bunking two in one. I stood there for a while, sipping coffee from a paper cup and feeling lucky for the surprise of these pigeons.
I hope that the first issue of Every Pigeon makes you feel this way. I hope that you, too, will hear the low hum while you read each of these pieces and that it makes you feel warm through the rest of your day.