We love birds. For the past two years, a noisy mourning dove has nested in the branches of the tree outside of our window. Either that, on on the roof, but the tree image is so much more romantic, don't you think? We hear our birds in the spring and summer, and sometimes in the fall, but they move away for the winter, and although we think sometimes about them, we are more interested in warm and cosy inside things.
That being said, I was tickled pink when I heard the mourning dove's familiar coo two mornings ago.
Nathan and I have been getting up early for the Baha'i Fast, which started last Tuesday and ends in about two weeks, because we have to make breakfast and eat it all before the sun rises. Here in Chicago, that's about 6:16 (at least this morning), and it gets about a minute sooner each day. This morning, the sky is a beautiful palette of creamy orange fading into a greyish purple. How orange can fade into purple, only the sky can tell you. I'm staving off this morning's chores of dishes and sweeping and tidying by reflecting on the beauty of the mornings, but soon I will have to dive into the work - we have Baha'i children's classes at our house later this morning, and I will need some physical and mental space to prepare for the rush of pancake-eating, rough-and-tumble children.
Maybe we will talk about birds...