Rob S. Friedman
January 2024
When the Mourning Doves Return
When the mourning doves return they bring enthusiasm, a biological glee, as they chase and nip on wing, coo sweetly in unison.
When the nest building begins I rise to watch, like past years, to witness the gathering, the framing of a cradle, the cushioning of the bowl.
Two eggs to blanket gently will appear at some point soon, as I wait and watch close by, unlike the circling hawk, its sightline obscured by leaves.
The hatchlings will strain agape to receive the sacrament. Their first flights sadly signal the close of my annual break from the quotidian.
Rob S. Friedman 