On my farm, I’m making new friends all the time. My newest friend is a curious and contemplative pigeon.

I call him Fred; every morning, a pigeon waits for me; he sits on top of the pole barn while I walk around with my camera, trying to capture the sun and its light. Sometimes he brings a friend, three or four.

They all fly away when I get close, but Fred stands still and watches me, perhaps trying to figure out who I am and whether I have any food to offer.

I don’t. I lived in cities long enough to know never to feed a pigeon. Do it once, and they will never forget you, neither will all of their friends. Our pigeons seem to find plenty to eat out in the marshes and the woods; they never bother us; they hang out in the barn’s upper floor. Fred and I have some very peaceful moments together. I look out for him, and he is always there waiting.

When I go inside, he flies away.

I guess friends are where you find them. I like Fred; it promises to be a good relationship. One day we’ll meditate together. Perhaps we already are.