Charlotte heads out of The Trump Parc nest Charlotte on The Hampshire House Charlotte on The Hampshire House Pale Male Jr getting ready to spend three hours on the nest while Charlotte is away. Pale Male Jr on his way to the nest Pale Male Jr soaring over The Upper Westside Charlotte (l) & Pale Male Jr All images above photographed on Tuesday April 25, 2006 Even with the roar of traffic some thirty floors below me and the arbitrary blare from one rooftop machine or the other, there came a moment when I heard the distinct cry of baby birds. I tried to home in on the sound and sure enough I found that it was coming from the very top of the Trump Parc building—it was the sound of baby pigeons. I scanned the dark spaces between the large gold crown and I saw the busy parents popping in and out. Somewhere inside those high beams were many warm nests with eggs that hatched successfully, and the new life which broke out of those shells were announcing their arrival to the rest of the world. Their parents seem to act differently way up there--almost as if they take on a different personality up there. Down on the street they scurry and scamper between the feet of pedestrians as they scavenge the sidewalks for scraps of food. But thirty floors and more they seem to not just literally but figuratively rise above the hostile world we treat them to down below. Those babies cried in chorus and there appeared no worry to hush their sound for fear of being discovered and exterminated. I felt like those parents knew that the Universe was on their side and all was well. As I waited for Charlotte to return I indulged in the soothing sound of those baby birds and filtered out the noise from down below. When their little eyes catch the starlight at night I’m sure it’ll make the heavens smile.