Feral and beyond the pale at Candlemas

Wenlock Edge, Shropshire Imbolc day and its rituals speak of the white of milk, lambing, doves - all signalling winter's end

The pigeon cocked a conspiratorial eye at the dog as we walked by. A wind ferocious enough to peel the bird from its perch and blow it away had little effect. The pigeon sat out the squall with saintly patience.

These birds are descended from rock doves, beautifully swift fliers from sea cliffs, quarry faces and derelict buildings, perfectly at home on the thinnest of edges between sanctuary and howling void. But feral pigeons divide opinion. A year or so ago a white dove like Noah's showed up after a storm and became a familiar sight, doing the wind-up funky walk and flying in a blur of clapping.