Morning Doves

Morning coffee warms my hands as I sit watching the sun rise, and as it does, I witness a ritual so beautiful and odd that it raises the hair along the back of my neck, leaving me almost breathless.

Soft gray doves arrive in solemn silence, lining up one after another, filling the power lines and facing the sun. There is no cooing, or jostling for space. Not one long feathered tail moves as they sit in what appears to be total concentration.

I don’t know how long this lasts. I only know that eventually they begin to move and the enchantment is broken. I become aware that the sun is bright and the world is waking up in earnest.

It is one of those amazing little things that manifest in this world of mine where messengers flutter in and out on wings and paws, email and snail mail, telephone and internet videos, each one ready to be noticed, but willing to be swept aside.

The lessons, the kindnesses, the hands reaching out, are all here. There is nothing magical, or secret about it, but there is a sacredness to it, a gentle giving and taking that must remain balanced in order to experience the richness that lies in such abundance around me.

I reach out to give and when I pull my hands back -- they are full.