Love Dove at Dusk

It is 6:13 p.m, dusk. I went to get my mail and a morning/mourning dove flew toward me, landing 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 exhale in tiny wisps as he breathed the cold air in, then out.  We stayed, me standing looking up, him balancing on a thin branch, looking down.  

I made the verbal observation that he had a small head and a big chest, and asked, Does that mean you have a big heart? Of course he did not answer, 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 indoor 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 half grin, grateful for my love dove at dusk.