Since returning from San Francisco last week, I’ve been enjoying the presence of two mourning doves outside my apartment.
There are few trees where I live in Over the Rhine (downtown Cincinnati), so I’m surprised that any birds are nesting nearby. But this cute monogamous pair seems like they’ve settled in for the season since I keep hearing them each day.
To be clear, I am not a naturalist. I can’t identify even the most common trees or flowers, and my mother is frequently dumbfounded at my ignorance of Midwestern flora and fauna.
I’ve also openly admitted in business meetings that I do not like flowers, puppies, or babies. People move further away from me after such statements—and I do exaggerate, but not by much.
So I don’t know why I’m charmed. I have no interest in birds. But every morning as I wake up, I wait to hear their call. It’s a comforting and friendly presence that feels like a hopeful sign—although of what I don’t know.