I heard my first mourning dove of the season today.
It's a beautiful day. We have some very noisy wind, but the temp is 62* and the sky is a gorgeous spring-time blue and cloudless.
The house was quiet. It was just me and our zoo of 4-legged creatures. The 4-leggeds were all sleeping. Outside the wind was blowing like only March winds can blow -- LOUD.
Whipping everything in it's path, the wind shudders against the skin of my home. Whistling through the window screens and rattling the exterior doors, the winds dry up my winter moistened garden beds. The leaves are coming loose and find their way into a neighbor's yard. My wind chimes, that hang in the budding lilac tree, are made of bamboo tubes. They are singing their hollow tune along with the noisy wind.
Amidst all of this noise, I hear the distinct, "Oo-wah-hooo, hoo-hoo" of the mourning dove. In the rattle and shudder of the wind, the mourning dove's call is steady and gentle. Clear and distinct, the dove doesn't sound at all flustered in the 30mph wind gusts. His mournful song cries out and I hear it. Amid all the noise of nature and man-made rattling, I hear the soft, gentle call of the dove.
The five notes of the mourning dove take me back to childhood memories...
Once again, I am a small child in my grandparents' yard. I am hiding amid the evergreens. Laying down on the forest floor, I am watching the sunlight play among the branches of the evergreens. The ground beneath me is soft with fallen brown needles. The scent of pine sap is strong and it sticks to the tips of my fingers.
I float through my memories and I am a young girl, laying awake in my room on Juneau Street. I am trying to fall asleep during the twilight of evening. I lay there, awake, watching the path of headlights on my ceiling as the cars go by. I watch for such a long time, that I can tell if they are traveling East to West or West to East.
The sound of the mourning dove continues to carry me to days more recent - sort of... I am a young mother. I am tired and nap when I can - usually when the children do. Laundry is piled high and probably needs folding, but I am a young Mommy with sleeping babes. I am sitting in our living room and it is filled with blankies, stuffed animals, toys and lace filtered sunlight on a wonderful summer evening. I am listening to both babes and doves, "coo-coo" as only babes and doves can coo.
Each memory is one of peace and tranquility. The song of the mourning dove was heard during those still and peaceful times of my life. The memories become a haven in my mind; a sanctuary I can always go to. Doors always unlocked, as in the days long passed, because I hold the key.
