Doves are on my gallery, in my kitchen, near my office floors, on telephone wires, some on the sign boards of opposite offices, some run away in glimpses.
They are beautiful, blue, brown or fawn with black strips and spots, black bordered with white tops to the tail feathers, too busy if they find something to feed. Females found busy preparing their nests, call their males to come help in, few male busy in romance with their partner. Some busy in refreshing their wings like the great magician flows his coat, where some stare at you for hours and hours. Watch sometimes Rock pigeons clapping their wings while they fly. Seer dominance!
Morning is the time Mourning Doves welcome me so warm. Grace overall! I see them in crowd near the temple on my way. Are they human? demanding and demanding to god? Wonder where they hide when I return home in night.
Doves sound coo. If Collard then have longer calls than others and pigeons repeat coo over and over. I love them making that coo noise when I am lost. I love them when they are silent. That makes me feel someone exists very much like me.
This how Prince sings -
"Why do we scream at each other
This is what it sounds like
when doves cry
Touch if you will my stomach
Feel how it trembles inside
You've got the butterflies all tied up
Don't make me chase you
Even doves have pride."
Doves have shown me not be shy,
silent but dominant
you be
if wanna fly high.
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