Hergest Ridge

The visitor of last night has made it off. The alarm rang at 6:00, but I recall little until about an hour later. I must have checked after the alarm to see if it flew off, but do not remember.

Not sure if injured and awaiting its last breath in relative peace, the white dove perched up in the corner of the wall on the balcony startled me last night as I went outside. Only its head turned towards me, dark round eyes observing, it felt no need to clear out in my presence. Over the next hour as I cooked the day’s last meal on the grill, I came in and out several times but it only turned its head, never moving its feet or wings.

In a bottle cap I put out some water, my hand a chicken’s pace away from the visitor. It adjusted itself, and observed without much fanfare. In the end it did not accept the offering, for the cap is still filled to the brim.

The burlesque side of my human nature sought a greater meaning to the event. Or, was it a kind of desperation that tried to persuade my reason into a fantasy filled with omens, signs, and prophecies?

The dove now departed, unconvinced of event explanations beyond those of an animal’s need for shelter on a cool night, I’m ready for another day of work to help pave the way to a flight of my own.