I was sitting on a bench near some trees this afternoon. I looked around and thought "my but there's quite a lot of pigeon shit on the ground." I wasn't sitting under the trees because I didn't want to sit in or near the excrement, but I was sitting in the pigeons' flightpath. Thinking about the perils of the position I was in brought a stunning memory to the surface.
About 5 years ago... I'm walking home in the snow from Kaladi Brothers' Coffee House on University Ave. in Denver, Colorado. I'm bundled in a nice black pea coat and carrying a steaming cup of coffee. I'm wearing my flannel golfer's cap (I don't golf), thankfully. I'm just slushing along. The air is calm and there aren't too many cars on the road so the air is quiet, too. I love snowy afternoons in Denver; they go best with the aroma of fresh coffee and the warmth it gives. I don't hear the defecation; I only feel it. A little dopplethump on my head. Water dripping off an awning?
I feel it again when I go to take my cap off. Now it's on my cap and my fingers. White and grainy, kinda like toothpaste but a bit runnier. I wipe my fingers off in the snow, check to make sure my coffee is scat free, and smirk at the peculiarity of the event...
When I got back to my apartment I wrote a little poem, like a haiku, only without the right amount of syllables (consequently, it wasn't a haiku). Here's what I wrote, it's easy to remember:
On a snowy day
A bird shat on my head
I remember debating whether I should write "shit" or "shat" at the time. Either way. Some people say that being shit on, or shat on, is a sign of good luck. The same people make wishes when they light upon a stray eyelash. These uninhibited optimists make lemonade out of lemons, but I wonder what they'd make out of pigeon shit?