Dear Diary:
Five thirty in the morning and I’m getting ready for the day when I hear a familiar but strange sound. It’s kind of like a mourning dove. “Kind of†because the rhythm of it is almost too perfect. Like it’s fabricated.
Instinctively I go to my iPhone to check who might be calling or texting at that hour and wonder does my phone even have a mourning dove ring tone.
But the sound is farther away. Perhaps a neighbor in the hallway with their phone, passing by?
No. It’s coming from the kitchen. There, on my ledge - 11 floors up - is a delicate, cool-gray mourning dove. Inches away and impossibly perfect. We stare at each other for a moment. Then I go back to getting ready.
A bit later, eating breakfast, I glance out the window. The ledge is empty.
Kind of sad I thought it was a ring tone.
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