I’m talking sternly to the pigeon through the window glass, knocking and making eye contact. I know she hears me. Trying to get my one thousand words, trying to write a poem about trust, and she’s coo-coo-cooing on her nest. Perhaps this is some comfort, the sounds she makes resonating through her feathered bottom to the warming eggs below. Coo-coo. Rhythmic and incessant, it’s my own heart racing, my mind a-scatter and her simple sitting, reassuring her yet-to-be offspring that the day will come, this new life hatched.