I am sitting by the fire, drinking my first cup of boiled coffee and anticipating the beginning of a new day.  The air is crisp as ice on a pond after a blue norther.  The mountains of Mexico are still in the darkened shadows of sunrise and are silhouettes against the pale glow in the east.

A flutter of wings brings the visions to an abrupt halt.

A glance at the big ocotillo identifies the intruder.  It is our resident Dove.  It comes at various times during the day, seemingly to make sure that we have left corn for the day’s meals.  There is little fear exhibited by this creature and it has little to fear from me.  I find joy in its presence and watch the nearby brush for a glimpse of its family.

Its a shadow but it portrays a shape designed for the rigors of the wilderness.  It seems to be as smooth as the lines of an expensive race car but it is as soft as down.  It can fly with speed that can confuse even the best of hunters , yet it can perch on a cactus that has more thorns than roots.  It lights with the gentleness of a feather and sits undisturbed by its surroundings.  It emits a sound that is as mournful as the songs at an old fashioned funeral.  What is it saying?  Is it greeting the new day or simply supplying me with a brief moment of reflection.  I hope it is the latter and will continue to think that it is.

Gary