Monday, September 1, 2014

the three graces

There is often a crow or two perched on the street lamp across the street. I've grown accustomed to their dark silhouette against the sky. I suppose that is why I was so startled when I looked up from my work and found myself staring at a slim, white bird.
A Mourning Dove.
I'd been hearing them call for several days but nary a sighting.
And now, wonder of wonders, one was right across the street.
That's what I needed.
I sprang out of my chair and dashed for the door with one eye still fixed on the dove.
Still there.
Down the hall I dashed and into a darkened room.
I plunged my hands into a drawer, finding my binoculars by braille.
Back to the window I rushed.
Still there.
I fumbled with the lens covers.
I glanced out the window anxiously.
Still there.
I whipped the binoculars to my eyes.
Wrong way.
I turned the binoculars around and drew a bead on.......absolutely nothing.
The dove had sailed off out of view.
I dropped limply into my chair.
"Coo, coo, coo, coo."
My eyes followed the sound to the uppermost branches of our neighbors tree. There, in a patch of golden sunlight were three Mourning Doves. One was fanning its tail and preening enthusiastically.
I trained my binoculars on high and watched them riffling through feathers and smoothing them out again.
Three birds, creamy white and slender.
The sky, high and blue.
The leaves warmly lit by slanting afternoon sunlight.
The Three Graces.

1 comment:

Cathy said...

I'm so glad you were finally able to see the doves. Your story had me wondering there for a while. . . .Their calls are so much more soothing that that of the Crow.