Doves Nest

Ginny and Fred return to the gazebo. They prefer the confines of passion vines.

“Jack in the Beanstalk plant.” My son calls it.

Bells of flowers cling up under the hat of the structure. A loose nest of sweet peas and weeds hides their offspring. Mourning doves are dutiful parents. They take turns waiting.

Fred goes missing a week. She continues the duties. The eggs hatch any day. Still she calls to him, praying a cat didn’t nab him or my neighbors didn’t shoot him.

Raising children alone is rare for mourning doves. Piles of millet and safflower seeds sprinkled on the feeding platform near the nest. It’s a make shift feeder. Predators can’t easily enter. Ginny’s slender body hops down for a drink of water and snack. Back to the nest, feed the infants pigeon milk.

Spring turns to summer. Children begin to fly. The nest falls to the ground.  Ginny calls. We fill the feeder. Ginny and I wait.

Caroline Gerardo
"Dove's Nest"
2015 Poem copyrights reserved

Photographs of the passion vine in the gazebo
A mating pair have returned year after year.
Look what Google did with my images they made one
photograph of my several. The google gods are genuis

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