A pigeon swept across her window, and she marvelled at its liquid movements
in the air waves. She placed her dreams on the back of the bird and fantasized
that it would glide forever in transparent silver circles until it ascended
to the center of the universe and wasswallowed up. But the wind died down,
and she watched with a sigh as the bird beat its wings in awkward, frantic
movements to land on the corroded top of a fire escape on the opposite building.
This brought her back to earth.
Humph, it's probably sitting over there crapping on those folks' fire
escape, she thought. Now that's a safety hazard.
. . . And her mind was busy again. . .
Gloria Naylor, The Women
of Brewster Place
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