I couldn't figure it out. What is that, sticking up, from the gutter? A stick? A feather? Another shoe? Yeah, there's been a shoe on the roof before... don't ask.
Could this little guy be it? Where'd the pointy thing go?
leapt for joy when Rick gave me HIS camera with the telephoto lens to use...
Except then this happened...
But not just any birds. Mourning doves.
Through a veil of tears I uncovered the symbolism of the appearance of mourning doves...
The dove is a member of the pigeon family and both hold the qualities of home, security and maternal instincts.
The dove's song is its most distinctive feature. It can be heard throughout the day.
When "Dove" makes an appearance to you it could mean:
Unexpected and unseen support and assistance will come when you need it most.
Travel is often indicated when Dove appears prominantly, and this may include relocation to a new home.
A death, either physical (of someone one knows or is close to) or symbolic (within the individual) may occur and while it may bring grief, there is also quite often a sense of relief and gratitude that suffering has finally ended and peace will soon be at hand.
Even in the Bible, the Holy Spirit is depicted as a dove in the baptism of Jesus. According to the Bible, when Jesus emerged from the water, a dove from heaven descended upon him.
If you asked me where God is, in these moments when a life's journey is coming to an end, this is what I have discovered so far... the signs of his presence, are everywhere.
It's in the young buck I saw leaping through the grasses down by the river, who stopped, turned his head and looked at me... unmistakable right at me... then bounded off.
It's in the fury and power of the weather, the umpteen tornadoes that swirled with force and power all around our community yesterday, destroying some, while leaving others unscathed. It's a stormy day that will remain in the memories of many forever, as well as in the weather history books.
It's in his eyes, my father's, as he searches my face. On good days, he is all there, and we talk about every day things like always. On not so good days, he searches my face for recognition, as if to ask, "Am I still here?"
It's in the syringes, all lined up in a cup, next to his chair, filled with morphine. We use them now, to help with his labored breathing at times.
It's in the cards, letters, facebook messages, food, phonecalls... every. single. prayer. said in his name, our name. Especially there, I feel HIS presence.
It's in these doves who have shown up, cooing their mournful calls, beckoning to places beyond... while reaffirming the circle of life with each twig they add to their nest, preparing for the arrival of the new life.