The Mourning Doves

I was sipping my first cup of morning coffee,
watching the gentle flicker of the flames through
the wood stove’s door, gazing out the window
at the waltz of the spruce boughs and the snow.
As usual, my thoughts drifted to my loved ones,
my family, my close friends. A year ago, the soft
realization came, this one’s husband was still here,
this one’s son, this one’s long-time friend.
May peace fill the emptiness that they left behind.
I rose to take my empty cup (May they be comforted.)
to the sink, and peering through the window above it
saw, as if in a dream, a flock of mourning doves
perched on the branches of a tree and the wire,
motionless as the snow fell around them.

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