Doves
He was so certain of himself that he would sing misheard lyrics with the conviction of the new convert.
Maybe I'm just like my father twofoldWhen you pointed out that he was substituting a parental profligacy for boldness, he would scoff and continue:
This is what is sounds like, when the doves flyThe son a King, he was a prince who wrote his own lyrics. Nevermind the printed label on the vinyl or the record cover, it was the sound of doves flying. I shook my head. He laughed, case closed, argument over. I will miss you my brother.
...
Growing up, he'd heard that the best jockeys needed to learn how to fall "properly" to lose their fear of failure. Somehow the number ten was attached to that anecdote. Thus it was resolved, this 6 year old provoked every horse to throw him to get it over with.
My first horse riding lessons were thus quite an ordeal as this my brother proceeded with his plan and even encouraged me to get on with the falling - I demurred. He celebrated when he reached the tenth fall, he was going to be the best.
He was forever disappointed that he grew too tall and too athletic, his body too magnificent a specimen to be a jockey. What remained was this urge for speed, this will to fly where others wouldn't. I will miss you my brother.
...
We discovered the baby dove in our driveway one Sunday morning, limp, immobile and near death - indeed The Wife thought it was dead having fallen from the sky, and was about to pick it up to dispose of it when it stirred. Just like that Michigan woman arisen when she was just about to be enbalmed at the mortuary.
After a few hours it began to stir, but was still too dazed and, in the two days since, it hadn't recovered sufficiently, it couldn't unfurl its right wing for one. We placed water and some feed nearby to give some relief. Slowly it moved from the front yard to the side and now the fence.
There was a scare the next day when two black cats were lurking nearby, but, somehow, either our presence or the mother dove's fierceness must have deterred the feline predators. I guess we could have taken it in to protect it but we're no vets and the mother was doing nature's job.
We had wondered how it had been able to move at all and now we have evidence: call it the carry trade. It looks as if the mother dove was now trying to carry its brood to safety if not higher ground, there was a nest nearby.
It took a few more days to mend, but I caught a glimpse of the younger dove flying with the mother - the wounded wing gave the bird a slightly lopsided arc to its flight path.
Doves
It was deep in my time of grief,
As the tears finally crystalized on my cheeks,
That I started to move on from crying
To recalling the stolen moments
The conversations never to be renewed
Our trade in misheard lyrics
I recalled that vision of the flight of doves
A revival, this movement towards an antidote,
And the sound of my brother's laughter
Soundtrack for this note
See also The Laws of Grief
File under: memory, grief, life, personal, mourning, culture, observation, family, toli, poetry
Writing log: March 6, 2021
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