The kitchen window faces East and overlooks the neighbour's yard. I can see their flower garden which makes me smile but oh so envious. Our neighbour has the best looking flower gardens in the whole community. If I turn my head slightly south I can see the large Blue Spruce that our neighbour has so lovingly tended for many years.
While washing dishes it is my habit to look out my window and watch the comings and goings of the Morning Doves, who have taken up residence deep inside the branches of the spruce tree. Morning Doves have a special place in my heart and in my memories and I had missed their quiet, unassuming presence while I lived in Alberta.
After my divorce, from my first husband, I went through a period of deep depression. Negative thoughts about my looks, personality, and emotions permeated my entire waking and a good portion of my sleeping thoughts. I was convinced that I would never find love of any kind again.
My thoughts became darker, and more foreboding until I finally reached rock bottom. At that point Death himself could have come for me and I would have gone willingly. In anguish I called out to The Lady asking, begging tearfully, to give me a sign that she still cared and heard my cries. I ranted, begged, cried, and in the end just sat in the darkness of my yard and sobbed uncontrollably.
As the sun rose the next morning, lighting the area where I still sat, eyes sore and puffy from crying, I heard a soft call nearby. Something like a cat's purr but more song like, and yet so sad, so lonely. I moved my head stiffly from side to side until I finally spied a small dove. He was pacing a few feet away making these little sad noises to himself. He was plain, blending so well with his surroundings that he was difficult to see at first. Soon a second, smaller dove joined him in his morning forage.
I must have moved just right because suddenly the doves took off with a whir of wings and a trill of alarm. It was only as I watched them flutter into the sky I noticed that the bird I had assumed was so unimportant was actually very beautiful. Their wing tips were marked with darker feathers. Their tails which fanned out as they flew flashed brilliant white in the morning sun.
I don't know what kind of a sign I was looking for the night before, but I knew this was the sign I had been seeking. Here was a bird that upon first sight looks plain and unimportant. So very small in the great big world. But on closer examination you could see that he was beautiful in a quiet, subtle way. And, most importantly, he had a mate. He had found love.