Lovey Dovey

I have been absent or absent minded. Both fit. But today I pulled into my house and looked at this scene for about 4 minutes.

In those 4 minutes my mind traveled down many beaten paths in my brain. That in itself never ceases to amaze me, how we are capable of looking at something and running through hundreds of thoughts, images, conversations, memories...one thing connecting to the other and you end up some place completely different to where you began.

I pulled in and looked at the dove.

In Puerto Rico, there is a superstition that pretty much goes like this: When a specific dove (Paloma Sabanera, kind of looks like this one) perches itself in a tree or fence near your home and starts cooing, for several days, it is announcing a death in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, this myth has been proven in many cases in my neighborhood...which gives it an eerie feeling. Normally you don't hear many doves cooing...but when you do, a death happens within a few days.

So, I looked at the dove and my thoughts went as such: Looks like a sabanera dove. This can't be good. Who is going to die? Nevermind. This is not home. I'm not home. I miss home. It's a nice afternoon. Grandpa would be getting home, right about now. The way our land looked at this time in the afternoon, when the sun was setting. My grandfather's voice calling my name. The dove. Grandma. Grandma loved doves. She had a ceramic dove on her dresser where she kept her rings and bracelets. The smell of her room. The sun setting and setting and orange hue inside her bedroom. Her sitting on the bed, combing her hair. Her with a bandana on, with no hair, staring out the window at nothing. The dove. The dove singing outside her window for days. The dove disappearing Friday afternoon. Grandma dying on Saturday. Pain. Pain. I miss you. Her casket. Giving her a bath while she was bed ridden. The scar on her left breast. Cancer. The dove is still there. Grandpa is getting old. I hope he doesn't die. Not before I can see him a few more times. I'm so broke, I can't fly home to see my family. The ceramic dove. She always loved doves. We put the ceramic dove on her tomb. Her name carved on the headstone, right under the dove. I've never been ok after that. I need to be ok. The dove came back after she died, and cooed for a week straight. That noise broke my heart. The breeze carrying the coo through the mango trees. I miss the breeze. I miss home. I let you down, Grandma. The dove flew away. What a nice afternoon. I'm hungry. I need to blog about doves. Good thing I snapped that picture. I knew I would blog it. My back hurts. I'm hungry. Need to get out of the car. I want to slam my phone and disappear. People need to back off and leave me alone.

All in 4 minutes. Because of a dove. She loved doves. Doves represent love.

C wut I did dar?