Mourning Dove

     A few days later, my Noble Dove was back on the nest, preparing to raise another family. My husband saw her lay the first egg.

     When I checked the next morning she was gone. Well, most of her was gone. A neighbor told us they had seen a hawk lurking around their birdbath. 

     The male stood at the peak of the neighbor's rooftop calling and calling for his mate. It was heartbreaking; we could hear his mourning from inside our house. He never returned to the nest.

Family Portraits

     I made several attempts to catch a glimpse of either the eggs or the hatchlings of my Noble Doves. Just once, I was present for the changing of the guard, and I thought my curiosity would be rewarded; but the instant I was seen by the mama and papa they froze. I tried to wait them out, but they are more patient than I am. I wasn't able to greet the squabs until they were too big for concealment.

     And then they flew the nest...

The Passenger's Photo Album - Australia

     On his way home from Papua New Guinea, the Passenger paused for a few days in Sydney. The iconic, shell-shaped roofs of the Opera House are meant to evoke the sails in Sydney harbor. They certainly do, but when I look at them I also see a cluster of upended fishing dinghies, or the thresh of wind in the waves.

     What do you see?

These Hands

They drove the hammered nails into His hands,

His hands that shaped the hot sun overhead...

                               ~ from Sequel to Finality by Patrick F. Kirby ~

Tea and Coffee Down Under

     My husband arrived home from Australia just in time. I ran out of my favorite everyday tea bags two weeks ago. I can order them online, but the postage is too steep. So he brought me 5 boxes--that's 500 teabags--from Sydney.  He spoils me.

     My husband also bought a  Sunbeam coffee grinder in Australia to give to a colleague in Sulawesi.  Hmm. Interesting reading on the bottom of the box.

😏

Incongruent

     As I walked down to the postboxes to retrieve my mail the other day, I noticed that hundreds of desiccating worms had been washed into the gutter by a recent downpour.

     I eat meat, wear leather shoes and go after the bunnies eating flowers in my yard with a BB gun like Elmer Fudd or Mr. McGregor...so why do I feel sad for these worms?

Noble Dove

     In spring and summer these pots on my front porch are planted with ferns. I empty them in the fall to grow stars in December. Come late winter they are empty again, awaiting the spring planting. Not so this year.

     This year a mourning dove has moved in. I often think of doves as silly birds. They build silly, impossible nests. This one is just a loose handful of birch twigs laid in a flowerpot. If not for the paper I stuffed in the pot to hold stars, what would prevent the eggs from falling through and smashing? Surely a sudden storm could scatter the flimsy thing to the twelve winds.

     When the dove and her mate first came to stay, the least bit of commotion sent them streaking for the garage roof or safety of the birch. Then, one day shortly thereafter, nothing could move either of them as they took turns warming the nest: not a delivery man knocking on the front door, a camera pointed too close, or a rude photographer trying to shift one aside with a twig to glimpse the eggs. Early in the morning or late at night, whenever I check there is a dove sitting stoically on the nest. Courage. Faithfulness. Patience. Not so silly after all.

Noble dove.