The morning was on the cool side, this side of 60. At 7:00 am, fog hung in the air like an ancient clothesline, gray, with bits and pieces coming undone. I was in the first part of the exercise routine I (still) plan on making habit. So what if I’ve passed the magic 30 day mark (supposedly after 30 days doing a thing you can claim it as habitual. yeah, sure) by 90 days +. LOL
Anyone who knows me knows I am not a runner. I’m more of a workout at the gym, lift some weights, hit the rowing machine and elliptical and get outta there kinda gal. (at least in the old days!) So it may seem odd that my “routine” begins by walking down our 70′ driveway doing shoulder presses with dumbbells and then, when I reach the bottom, run and/or sprint back up to the top.
On this particular morning I noticed something a bit odd when I reached the bottom of the driveway. As I looked to my left, I saw a Mourning Dove sitting upon the edge of the top front frame of our Quonset Hut shaped carport. A carport whose cover had long since been torn by one too many tropical storms. The metal frame, the shell, is all that remains. I continued with my “running” routine – sprinted up the driveway, turned around and repeated what was to be the first of many laps. Not 10 feet from a sometimes walking, sometimes running human… this dove never moved.
It sat singularly steadfast and alone, facing away from me. Not once did I see it flinch or startle at any of my movements. Suddenly I was struck with a powerpunch of poignancy. Up until now, I had never seen a singular dove on our property. Always they appeared in pairs. Makes sense since Mourning Doves are considered monogamous. Now I found myself wondering if all the “dove couples” I’d seen perched upon our gate or sitting on our roof or hanging out on the fence were in fact the same 2 birds.
What happened? Where was this morning’s Mourning Dove’s mate? She sat so stoically and with such resolve on that skeleton carport. No movement of man nor animal could break her concentration. Imagination, now front and center, sent me sailing into sadland as the romantic in me imagined this to be a Mourning Dove in actual mourning as she sat waiting for her mate who may never again sit by her side.
How long would this creature wait for her one, lifetime mate? When would she realize her waiting was in vain? When would she accept that no amount of vigilance had the power to return her to a life she once shared.
The next morning there was no singular dove sitting upon the carport…the next day there were no doves at all.