The cooing at the front door

May 18, 2006

Dear Pat,

Weeks ago DC noticed a pair of doves building a nest in the window above our front door. In her estimation, the project wasn't going well. Bits of grass and twigs were falling onto the front porch. The nest had no branch to cling to. Days went by and still the assemblage didn't resemble a nest.

DC's finches, lovebirds and parakeets have a whole bedroom to themselves. She wasn't letting any doves go homeless. So she placed one of her old Easter baskets on the window sill and waited.

That their home-in-progress had suddenly become a colorful pre-fab condo probably manufactured in Taiwan didn't seem to bother the doves at all. They set up house right away.

These are days of wonder, they must have thought to whatever extent bird brains do. A ready-made nest doesn't appear out of nowhere every day. Or maybe it does when you really need one.

Our friend Robyn, who lives next door, claims at one time the doves were building a nest over her door but abandoned it when the Easter basket appeared over ours.

The true secret of moving real estate may not be location but whether it's brightly painted and ready for occupancy.

DC and I perch on the landing of the front stairs in our house to watch the doves in their nest. They watch us back. We know how being in a zoo feels.

The world needs more cooing. Cooing is the first sound we hear going downstairs each morning.

Then the day came when DC noticed four beaks instead of two. The Easter basket that once held chocolate eggs and synthetic grass and made children beam was transformed into a haven for new beings with tiny beating hearts.

DC and I remember when our nieces were new beings like that. Two of them, Devon and Casey, are graduating this week. Devon is finishing college and Casey high school. They grew up while we weren't looking. But having grownup nieces is nice, too. "Don't grieve," Rumi says. "Anything you lose comes 'round in another form."

Soon Devon will be off to an internship, Casey off to college. We'll hardly recognize them and their lives anymore, we fear. Millions of people are having similar experiences and feelings this time of year. It's as natural as growing older, as sublimely beautiful, this leaving and yearning, as the sounds of birds welcoming another sunrise.

Soon enough the baby birds won't be babies any more. They'll leave because they were meant to.

Mom and Dad dove will be left with a house that suddenly seems too big for them. They'll leave their homestead behind for new adventures of their own.

Rumi: "This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life. Finally, to take a step without feet."

Love, Sam

Sam Blackwell is managing editor of the Southeast Missourian