The mourning dove
Ambles along
Unhindered by the knotted cares of
A world run astray.
Only the wind
Speaks to her
And the great sky
Above,
Where the blue dove
Smiles,
Wreathed in bells of sunlight,
Their light
Falls on ancient stone sundials,
That foretell
The times that are
And yet to be.
Then only the earth-lit rains follow after
That sing
Their song
Of lilting laughter,
That drizzle down quiet afternoons.
Only the peace
Of the presence of Eternity.
The unraveling mystery of the runes.
Overhead fly the geese
Of spring
And the white butterfly
Who flits, twinkling,
Among the sage brush dancing
Gently in the wind,
Their stems still gray
From the length
Of the snowing days
Of winter.
Out of emptiness climbs
Strength,
While the tall cliff anchors time
And in the creek below,
The minnow
Flits on by,
Silver-finned.
The dove takes flight,
Wings whistling
Into the unknown,
Alone, yet not alone,
With her crowds of brothers and sisters,
Where the juniper trees gather
Under the wings of spring,
In the brave winds –
Singing.
© Copyright Sharon St Joan, 2023
A late reply – thank you so much, Debra! I used to raise orphaned wild baby doves before I became a wildlife rehabilitator – a long time ago.
I quite enjoyed this one, Sharon. This is the way I too experience the dove. I always enjoy the way you invoke the eternal essence of things.