Saturday, February 15
Woke up yesterday to the heart-thrilling sight of a dozen mourning doves perched in our apple blossom tree.
No photo though to capture the enchantment. I hesitated to open the curtains wider in case I startled them and my camera’s flash produced only a blur.
But the pale peach breasts, the soft blue under their wings and a sharp flash of black and white tail feathers as they groomed, so welcome in this harsh winter, are clearly etched on my mind’s canvas. They fluttered and preened; some moved from one branch to another, others sat in still, silent meditation as early sun warmed them.
All winter I have been watching, and putting out seeds, worrying at seeing only a couple at our bird table, so it was so re-assuring to know they are still here and trust us to feed them. And to know that, before too long, nature will remind us of her ability to restore and renew and the doves will flock back.
Unfortunately they’d eaten all the previous day’s seeds and going out with more caused a flowing stream to fly to the taller evergreens. By mid-afternoon all those seeds had disappeared. This morning, ahead of another wintery blast, we’ve sprinkled more for them to enjoy.