It isn't a pigeon

I hear a mourning dove just now. I wonder if she knows I've been indexing death certificates. No. I don't really wonder that, but I have been indexing Texas death certificates today. And I don't wonder if it knows I'm a widow.

But about the bird.

A few days ago, a sparrow and a mourning dove met on the railing of my upstairs deck and startled one another. Both jumped and fluttered in air.

But it was momentary. Soon the sparrow went to the little bird house, and the dove stood awhile and let me hear that mournful call. After a while she began to walk slowly to the corner of the railing. Then she flew off into my neighbor's pine tree. (My neighbor has many pine trees.)

I do not remember seeing a mourning dove up there, so this visit seemed special to me.

I know. It's only a bird. I should get a life, you say. Well, I have one, and sometimes birds are part of it.

For another instance, I put the Christmas wreath in the garbage can this morning and wheeled it out to the street. Several years now that the house finches have not come to the wreath to build their nest. But I'll likely leave it up each year, just in case.