He would have been one of the oldest inhabitants
of the territory, this dove, his ancient claws
now turned into dull grey prongs.
His ancestors must have travelled
this air-route for centuries beyond memory.
And he had sailed on these air currents for an
unccountable number of times
and every building, tree or hill, must have become
as familiar a landmark as every other
bird family in the area.
They were all on nodding terms around here.
In short
this was a local everyday domestic run.
And this day
would be just like any other
as the old dove spread out his wings
on his daily run.
Ahead,
the familiar, clear old country opened out
just as it had, and always will
open out for his kind.
And when he saw this other dove
coming the other way
heading straight towards him
he just registered
“stupidity of old age” in his mind
as he veered to one side
to avoid a head-on collision.
But most strangely, so the old dove thought,
the other mirrored exactly his own movements.
And only at the very last spilt second
did he feel something
very strange, very familiar but very ancient
move inside him.
And, as he fell, looking up, and seeing
no sign of the other
an ancient memory flickered
through his body, dully:
(it was in the form of an old, old saying):
    “If you grow old and wise enough
    you just might be allowed
    a glimpse of your second, or next, self.
    Only very briefly.
    Just before the whole world
    contracts and closes intimately in
    around and into you.”