I’ll be going for a swim soon. It appears as if the stormy weather we had been expecting has decidedly gone somewhere else. Our win. I’m happy to not have to schedule this little workout around lightening bolts. There they go. Scratching at the screen door. Que to end here.

Even before I walked up those steps, I knew it. My dove would be gone. For the past two days, he’s been furiously practicing his flapping techniques. With those skinny, black legs standing at the very edge of the nest, grasping tightly to the twigs with sharp talons, he repeatedly mocked a pre-takeoff position. Yesterday afternoon, as I watched his determined little body work the task, even I was convinced of his readiness. I half wished to see him do it. Fly. It didn’t happen though. After a few minutes, he backed down and more rested on the soft, downy spot. Not yet.

This morning, as I drank coffee beneath where he lay sleeping, I wondered if he was getting another hour’s rest in before the big take off. In closing my eyes, I could visualize the whole thing. It wouldn’t be a smoooth thing. Grace took time. He would climb to the edge, look straight ahead with that focused gaze I knew so well, open his wings and just let go. At first, he might drop a little, brushing the tops of the ferns, but then he would push hard, catch air, and up he would soar.

I don’t know if his parents will be close enough to see all of this. For at least a day, they haven’t been around at all. I scanned the oak and wires and didn’t spot them. In the quietness of the morning, I even strained to hear their call. No sound but for Shadow’s occasional bark next door. This must be how nature works. Without the constant feedings, the baby was forced to go out and find his own food. Even if fear was in his heart, the basic instinct and need to eat would take over. Did they feel sad doing this? Mama and Papa, were you tempted to change your minds, go to him, feed him and keep him safe? How were they so convinced that he could do it? Survive. My own parents call me at least three times a week to check up on me now. Am I happy? Healthy? Eating right? It’s my belief that in our process of becoming these “civilized” beings, these creatures of intellect, we sacrifice a great amount of precious animal instincts. Was it a fair trade off? I don’t know. When I am privileged enough, as I have been with these doves, to see raw, animal instinct in action, I am left in awe. The power of it. Truest of built in intelligence. Something we can never attain, we humans. We must rely upon self help manuals from the “expert” therapists who make us look deeper and deeper still. We question ourselves a lot and only feel right in our decisions when the outcome is good. When it’s not, we are labeled as failures, either by ourselves or others we don’t even know.We go on, striving to figure our what went wrong. More manuals. More therapists. Such a complicated existence we have created.

Even if we were given the gift of wings, would we have the courage to use them?

I look up at the nest now. Hollow. Empty. I think of my dove and hope for his happiness, freedom and survival. I wonder if he’ll ever think of me. My happiness. My freedom. My survival. Will he ever wonder what came of the girl who fought the blue jay for him?