Wednesday, January 9, 2008

Lonsome Dove



The big drama this morning unfolded in a split second. Immersed in my morning writing, I heard a flurry of flapping and whistling wings. In the instant it took to lift my eyes off the page, all I saw was a cloud of downy under feathers cascading between a walnut branch and the shed roof where my resident mourning doves have been hanging out.

Everything was quiet and still. No chittering squirrels, no screaming jays, no bird song at all until, after a while, a hawk called from the hackberry above the studio. Well, the hawk needs to eat, too, but there's one very sad little bird in the yard today.

Mourning doves mourning.

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