Dove at Dusk

It is 6:13 p.m, dusk. I went to get my mail and a morning dove flew toward me a landed on a lower branch of the tree at the end of my yard.  A bird, in the middle of winter, at dusk, was a pleasant surprise. I said hello, as he sat and looked down on me. I am pretty sure I could see his breath in tiny whisps as he breathed the cold air in, and out.  We stayed, me standing looking up, him balancing on a thin branch, looking down.  I did make the verbal observation that he had a small head and a big chest, and asked, does that mean you have a big heart?  He didn't answer, of course, but it occurred to me that if humans had these body and head proportions, perhaps we would be a kinder, more gentle breed of being. We were silent for a while when I decided he definitely came for me, a morning love dove, in the evening.  It's cold outside, and as an indoors dweller, I decided to thank him for his reminder of coming spring and cliche as it sounds, of love.  As I walked toward my front door...I looked back, and he had turned toward me, watching me enter my house. Strange and wonderful, I have a half grin, grateful for my dove at dusk visitor.