The two lines crossed once. Diagonally intersecting each other, missing a central meeting place by a couple of feet. The lines had been there as long as they could remember: a result of uneven, hasty tarmacking from many summers ago. Winters old too, of course, but rarely examined with such close attention during the colder part of the year. Summers though, and the lines came into their own: the platform for a multitude of time spinners suited to the protracted lightness that the warmer part of the year brought.

Mind you, the tarmac was not a straightforward playmate. It came into existence in an odd way - it appeared over the course of two consecutive evenings - like an urban corn circle, except not as symmetrical, or it would seem, as interesting to the masses. There were a few though who were committed to the tarmac and the potential reasons behind the sudden appearance of this pervasive dark grey blob.

The pigeon landed with certainty and immediately revealed its land bound unsteadiness. We had noticed before that the pigeons flew with such ease and swiftness, but when they landed their feet couldn't provide the same faithful progress. We knew why. The pigeons didn't have feet: they had knots. Gnarled stumped knots of leg that had once been feet, feet that had been splendid feet, feet that would do as good a job as any feet. But, the tarmac, the tarmac got so hot during the summer that it would near bubble - no one had seen this, but we knew. The pigeons though, they didn't know and attracted by the diagonal cross, they would sail down, swooping and landing on their beautiful feet.