Nest in a flowerpot

Hello everyone!

I have something interesting to share with you.

I would have never thought that an ordinary pot with grass would become the place of the most tender story this spring. That sunny morning, as I glanced out of the window out of habit, I saw her, a small, fragile pigeon, sitting peacefully in my flowerpot on the terrace. I thought she was just resting. But when I made a sudden movement, she flew to the pole across the street, and a surprise awaited me below her.

I tried to approach slowly, without sudden movements, but every time she would move to the pole from which she can observe her eggs. It was quite a challenge to photograph her lying on the eggs. After a few attempts we became friends, she still didn't trust me completely, she was ready to fly away at any sudden movement, but as long as I was calm she was there. We would just look at each other, and do eye contact talk.

I couldn't stop going around the window that day. Every look was like a little celebration. And then it started to rain. I sat and thought, should I make a little hiding place for her, to protect her? I was worried that she would run away if I interfered, that she would leave eggs if I changed something. But then I remembered, above the pot there is a small canopy from the building, just enough to shelter her. And she was dry. She was sure. And she stayed.

Pigeon came back every day, lay carefully on the eggs, protected them from the sun, the wind, the world. I watched her sit motionless, completely committed to her task. It was a sight that taught me silence, patience and the simplicity of life. She didn't ask for anything. Just peace.

I started to think about how much we are all basically the same. We are looking for a safe place. Someone to watch over us. A space where we can be vulnerable, but also strong. That coo reminded me that nature finds ways even where we can't see them, in an old flower pot, high above the concrete chaos, she chose to create new life.

And now, every morning, I first look out the window. Not to check the weather, but to see how my little guest is doing. I am waiting for the day when the first beak appears, the first beep, the first flutter of little wings. And I know that then the terrace will stop belonging to me for a moment, because it will belong to a miracle.