Few days ago, coming home by train, I saw something beautiful. And it came in the most unusual ''wrapping'': in his 50s, bald, kinda chubby, wearing what was once a white top, old sweat pants and some flip-flops that I can only presume they were his comfy-pet-i'll recycle them later kinda thing.
The location wasn't great: there were plenty of unattended garden patches, places where people keep their horses and ponies, but not very tidy, with lots of weeds and bad taste graffitti.
Leaving appearences aside, I let actions speak for him.
He was sitting in front of his pigeon house, face to face with two of his birds friends. Moving his head up and down he was doing the pigeon dance. And the birds would do the same, in return.
He didn't care people would see him and think he was crazy. In that moment it was no room for anyone else except for him and his birds.
He'd take a bow, the birds would take a bow. Perfect etiquette. Harmony complete. Repeat.
I couldn't help but smile and thank him in my mind for his innocence.
Meanwhile, in my train, people were looking at their crotches, fiddling with their smart phones, doing their best to preserve their personal space bubble by avoiding eye contact, while outside the world was happening.
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