December 5

No ordinary pigeon, this plump, silent bundle of feathers and sharp eyes that came out of the dreary evening.

A kestrel; a rare sight. She landed on the corrugated iron roof of platform 3 / 4 at Wimbledon station. No one else knew.

The kestrel and I, a few sacred minutes together as the trains blasted past; she was not moved. She watched the train track for mice.

On my platform a little girl danced and her tired mother called her name, weakly; the only weakness in the kestrel was in her belly making her dive down to the train tracks.

A hard winter ahead.