During winter and spring, our porch
Becomes a large bird feeder
Covered with sunflower seeds
Cracked corn and thistle ~
A very popular hangout
For the neighborhood birds!

For about seven years
A single mourning dove
Has visited our front porch,
Sometimes travelling with a flock -
And at other times
Arriving alone.

The dove would sit for hours
On the edge of the front steps
Above the pond,
A solitary silhouette
Against the changing background.

He became part of my world
A feeling of kinship
Arising as we sat
He outside and me inside,
Watching the sun,
The snow, the rain.

I sensed the dove was happy
Looking out over the water,
Yet I’d wonder
Why is he alone?

I looked up habits of mourning doves
And read that some of them
Mate for life
And can feel loss.

This morning I was looking for the broom
And found it on the front porch.
When I lifted it up, there
Tucked in behind the straw
Was the body of a mourning dove,
Brown spotted feathers soft,
Eyes blue under transparent lids.

Did he come here to die?
I wondered.
Did he seek a familiar place
Where he’d been happy?
Did he come to say goodby?

We got a small box
And put the dove inside.
I placed it down by the stream,
And listening to the flowing water,
Said prayers and chanted
The mantras of perfection.

Then tender tears came ~
The dove was so beautiful
So precious,
And I’d lost a friend.

Breathing in the cold damp air,
I walked back to the house
Empty of thought,
And the seemingly solid world
Appeared ephemeral,
Bathed in the light of awareness
Held in love.