Everyone’s walking, including the pigeon. It has one foot raised and a small gap in the crowd to walk into.
Flying is available. Apparently this particular journey can be done on foot.
From this low viewpoint, the passing shoes become a much bigger part of the picture. There’s a sole lifted towards the camera on the left and a long stride coming through on the right. In between, the pigeon is taking a considerably smaller step.
That’s what keeps me looking. It’s caught mid-stride along with the people, moving through the same patch of pavement. There’s just enough clear space around its foot for me to notice it, and once I do, I start comparing everyone’s walk.
The man on the left has headphones on and a bottle in his hand. Others are carrying bags or walking together. They have things with them, things to attend to. The pigeon looks relatively unencumbered, although finding something edible on a shopping street may take more concentration than I’m allowing for.
It’s easy to give it an air of purpose. The raised foot helps. So does the fact that it seems quite happy to proceed between people much larger than itself.
Walking can make any of us look as though we know what we’re doing. A decent pace carries a certain authority, even when you’re heading the wrong way. You only lose it when you stop, check your phone and turn round in front of the people you’ve just overtaken.
I haven’t much evidence for the pigeon knowing where it’s going either. But it looks convincing here.
The timing brings the picture together. People are moving in opposite directions, their legs overlapping, while the bird has that little bit of pavement to itself. A moment later, a shoe could have blocked it. With both feet down, it might have been much easier to pass over.
Pigeons generally are. There are plenty of them, and unless one gets unusually close to your lunch, you can go about your day without giving them much attention.
Here, it gets the clearest position in the frame. The people still matter, but mostly because of what’s happening around their feet. I find myself studying a pigeon’s step with an interest I’ve never taken in my own.
I’ve looked at the raised sole, the other strides and the faces further back. Then I come back to the bird.
It could be heading for a chip. I’m examining its composure.