Dove Speak

Author: Tim Watts

The mourning dove coos. Calling gently, cool silky breeze, breathing motion. Times tapestry.   Woven window shade subtly dancing, celebrating the rhythm of a fresh day dawning. Warmth surrounding, the scent of two side by side. Morning, life mystery dawning anew. What will the next moment bring?  And each that follows? I am frighteningly ephemeral in this boundless universe which I am so poorly equipped to comprehend. Where was this cool gentle breeze born? Just a breeze, or a message? Breath of love lost perhaps? Love yet to be revealed?  Love soon to be discovered?  Do answers dwell on the breeze? In the language of doves?  How can I know?  Oh how I wonder. Does our universe speak a universal language?  Elusive, though deeply rooted within us? Am I too preoccupied? Too self absorbed? Ensnared by ego, devils bargain? Perhaps the dove is too wise to fall into egos trap, accept a devils bargain? Her calming coo to her love at daybreak stills my restless spirit.She paves with her breath upon this breeze a meandering path for my mind to follow in peace.