Juliana and the Pigeons

It's not much, but it is something. This took place this morning in Rome.

I was in the park when I met her. Juliana.
She was old and becoming frail but that wasn't revealed in her passion: Pigeons.
She worked for them everyday hauling cans of dog food from the supermarket to her secret hiding place behind the newspaper stand.
We transported twelve that morning.
The proprietor knows, speaks to her with the gentleness of a mother her child.
She told me it makes God smile.
She's Italian, gestured with her hands the rising corners of an Almighty mouth.
The tide is coming and this is her blessing to those winged rats. She would probably scold me for calling them that.
But in turn they're a blessing to her. Before we spoke I saw he mimic Mother Mary, look up to the sky. I saw only thankfulness in her eyes.
I asked her if she would like to get a cup of coffee with me. She said no, but asked if I would go with her, so she bought two cappuccinos and I've never seen anyone put so much sugar into a cup so small. It almost overflowed.
She smiled up at me with a hart so warm I could feel heat escaping her body.
That's when I started to fall in love with Humanity again.
When she said goodbye she did so in Italian; kissed both my cheeks and when her bus came, waved at me like she was bringing in an airplane from overseas.