The Mourning Doves gather outside my bedroom window.
I see them through the screen, the spotty glass,
an impressionist painting.
One paces, one peers in, one struts across
the once red roof.
Gentle warbling coos.
There’s no feeder here.
The Old Farmer’s Almanac says many people interpret the coo as a comforting sign
or message from angels, spirit guides, or lost loved ones.
What message do you carry little doves?
Who sent you?
