I hear sad, moaning calls from an overhead wire It is daybreak when I usually fetch the morning papers. The sounds seem to come from a hollow voice box. I see a pair silhouetted as the Sun’s tip just cuts above a distant bank of trees. Their back and forth calls come out of quiet dawn.
My daughters called them “Oh Oh birds.” Mourning Doves mourn. It is a sad call. Who are they mourning? Could it be their relative the Passenger Pigeon hunted to extinction? Could it be air pollution, water pollution, pesticides and herbicides? And maybe even all the thousands of chemicals that my cause cancer? I mourn with them.