A couple of days ago I stopped by my parent’s house after work for some dinner. My Dad wasn’t home at the time, but I ate and spoke with my Mom. Afterward while preparing to leave, I went into my car in order to throw out some trash. When I turned around to walk back towards the car my mother and I noticed a Mourning Dove had flown down and perched on the roof right above the driver’s side. I suppose that wasn’t too odd in itself, but I started to become curious as the bird just stayed there. I started to edge closer... and closer, all the while thinking that the dove would feel its natural instinctive fear of humans and fly off in a moment, but it didn’t. As I kept heading for it I took out my phone and used the camera to get a picture; still, no flying away. Finally I reached the car and I was literally looking at the bird face to face. I could see into its small black eyes as it bobbed its little head, I could see every little detail in its plumage, every crease in its orange feet. I took more pictures, even a little video clip... astonished by the fact that it wasn’t scared. It just sat there looking around, occasionally dipping down to drink some beads of rain water on my car. Once in awhile it made a soft cooing sound. I was quite baffled, and my Mom came out and stood next to me... both of us gawking at the creature. It reminded me of the famous movie scene where apes cautiously approach a mysterious black monolith in the film “2001: A Space Odyssey”. The Mourning Dove did not appear injured or seem to be in any pain. We found that it could flap its wings and fly a distance when it wanted, but it really liked hanging out there with us. I half-jokingly asked my Ma what she would do if the bird just started talking. It would be Old Testament style... Balaam and the talking donkey (Numbers 22:1-35). Then she mentioned that, “maybe it was Grandpa or Grandma”. Maybe. I guess that requires a short side-story.
Growing up, my maternal grandparents and I lived on the same block, and later on, a couple blocks away. I can remember always hearing Mourning Doves with their soft low call, cooah, woo, woo, woo. It was almost like the neighborhood’s trademark... a strangely peaceful and melancholy sound at the same time. You would always see them sitting together on power lines or tree branches, one beside the other. I learned later that Mourning Doves are monogamous. That fact definitely reminds me of my grandparents, they were in a strong loving relationship for most of their life. My grandfather was the first to pass away and I was 15 at the time. When a stone was prepared for the cemetery plot, my grandma wanted a picture of two doves sitting together on a rose branch. Seven years later, she too passed on. The Mourning Doves, both in their life and in their absence, forever remain symbolic of my grandparents in my heart. Even the lamenting calls of the doves remind me of how I still miss them. Back to the present...
The bird was still there perched on my roof. It slid down my windshield once. It also left a little “present” for me on the window. Something its feathered brethren often do, although I rarely catch them doing it so unabashedly right before my eyes. As my Ma went to get some leaves to clean up the mess, I wanted to pick up the bird, partly out of curiosity and partly to gently remove the fellow so that I could get going. But I was stopped by my mother who told me to not touch it because of parasites and the like... whatever it was just a bird, but I wasn’t going to argue. Several minutes ago we began talking to it, “ok Mr. Bird, you gotta move now... time to go”. And even funnier, “if you have something to say to us, say it now ‘cause Josh has to go”. No response. So, soon after my Mom shooed it away with a little leafy branch. It didn’t choose to fly though, but rather strut around on the street. It reminded me of another bird story from my childhood. My Grandpa once brought over a paper bag to the same house. Inside was a pigeon. A rather strange pigeon that didn’t fly but walked in circles... it was very peculiar but it must have been hurt or knocked in the head too hard. My brothers and I affectionately named it “Bert” after Ernie and Bert and the latter’s love of pigeons. That pigeon would run around in circles, I’d pick it up and it would glide in circles. Eventually Bert flew off my arm and away in the sky... in one giant sweeping circle. I was quite proud. Anyway, pigeons and doves are close cousins... so the strange behavior of this one had me reflecting on that moment from the past.
Eventually I left, my Ma waving goodbye and the Mourning Dove safely off the street sitting on an electric box, looking at me. I said bye to both of them and decided to drive to the cemetery to the top of the hill. I used to visit my grandparents here often when the wounds of the heart were all too fresh. We also used to walk together in this peaceful cemetery when I was a child. Something about it is very serene. As I looked upon the stone, I saw the two doves sitting on the rose branch and below that, the name of my grandpa and my grandma carved into the black granite. I stood there and said a prayer. I really did wonder, was there a message for us? Just a few weeks ago I had been in an art museum and saw a painting of the Portland Bridge (or the Arrigoni Bridge for the highbrows) from an angle that would have been from the unique vantage point of the house where my deceased friend used to live… it had been the day of his birthday. That had to be a sign... I don’t believe in coincidences, but rather JAH-incidents... meaningful, purposeful things. Was this Mourning Dove one too? I did have a deep conversation about society and humanity with my mother before I even left the door of the house... but who knows.
The whole incident, the Dove Tale, could be a sign, or it could be of no significance... but it does have me a little more aware of things. Even just sharing those few minutes in such proximity to one of JAH’s wild creatures made me ponder the whole relationship between humans and animals and plants. Do we need to step back more often, look into the eyes of the beasts and consider JAH creation? Do we need to be open for a message... a message like the donkey spoke to Balaam, and making an ass out of a prophet. Do our ancestors look after us, ambiguously revealed in familiar echoes from the past? Was it the Most High just saying, “Hello”? Things to think on...
Blessings,
JAHsh
Growing up, my maternal grandparents and I lived on the same block, and later on, a couple blocks away. I can remember always hearing Mourning Doves with their soft low call, cooah, woo, woo, woo. It was almost like the neighborhood’s trademark... a strangely peaceful and melancholy sound at the same time. You would always see them sitting together on power lines or tree branches, one beside the other. I learned later that Mourning Doves are monogamous. That fact definitely reminds me of my grandparents, they were in a strong loving relationship for most of their life. My grandfather was the first to pass away and I was 15 at the time. When a stone was prepared for the cemetery plot, my grandma wanted a picture of two doves sitting together on a rose branch. Seven years later, she too passed on. The Mourning Doves, both in their life and in their absence, forever remain symbolic of my grandparents in my heart. Even the lamenting calls of the doves remind me of how I still miss them. Back to the present...
The bird was still there perched on my roof. It slid down my windshield once. It also left a little “present” for me on the window. Something its feathered brethren often do, although I rarely catch them doing it so unabashedly right before my eyes. As my Ma went to get some leaves to clean up the mess, I wanted to pick up the bird, partly out of curiosity and partly to gently remove the fellow so that I could get going. But I was stopped by my mother who told me to not touch it because of parasites and the like... whatever it was just a bird, but I wasn’t going to argue. Several minutes ago we began talking to it, “ok Mr. Bird, you gotta move now... time to go”. And even funnier, “if you have something to say to us, say it now ‘cause Josh has to go”. No response. So, soon after my Mom shooed it away with a little leafy branch. It didn’t choose to fly though, but rather strut around on the street. It reminded me of another bird story from my childhood. My Grandpa once brought over a paper bag to the same house. Inside was a pigeon. A rather strange pigeon that didn’t fly but walked in circles... it was very peculiar but it must have been hurt or knocked in the head too hard. My brothers and I affectionately named it “Bert” after Ernie and Bert and the latter’s love of pigeons. That pigeon would run around in circles, I’d pick it up and it would glide in circles. Eventually Bert flew off my arm and away in the sky... in one giant sweeping circle. I was quite proud. Anyway, pigeons and doves are close cousins... so the strange behavior of this one had me reflecting on that moment from the past.
Eventually I left, my Ma waving goodbye and the Mourning Dove safely off the street sitting on an electric box, looking at me. I said bye to both of them and decided to drive to the cemetery to the top of the hill. I used to visit my grandparents here often when the wounds of the heart were all too fresh. We also used to walk together in this peaceful cemetery when I was a child. Something about it is very serene. As I looked upon the stone, I saw the two doves sitting on the rose branch and below that, the name of my grandpa and my grandma carved into the black granite. I stood there and said a prayer. I really did wonder, was there a message for us? Just a few weeks ago I had been in an art museum and saw a painting of the Portland Bridge (or the Arrigoni Bridge for the highbrows) from an angle that would have been from the unique vantage point of the house where my deceased friend used to live… it had been the day of his birthday. That had to be a sign... I don’t believe in coincidences, but rather JAH-incidents... meaningful, purposeful things. Was this Mourning Dove one too? I did have a deep conversation about society and humanity with my mother before I even left the door of the house... but who knows.
The whole incident, the Dove Tale, could be a sign, or it could be of no significance... but it does have me a little more aware of things. Even just sharing those few minutes in such proximity to one of JAH’s wild creatures made me ponder the whole relationship between humans and animals and plants. Do we need to step back more often, look into the eyes of the beasts and consider JAH creation? Do we need to be open for a message... a message like the donkey spoke to Balaam, and making an ass out of a prophet. Do our ancestors look after us, ambiguously revealed in familiar echoes from the past? Was it the Most High just saying, “Hello”? Things to think on...
Blessings,
JAHsh
Livicated to my grandparents, Edmond and Philomena Gioielli.
