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Recently, a Cooper's Hawk swooped by,
only inches from our faces, and grabbed a Mourning Dove a few feet away. Paul and I, and the Dove's partner, stared into the eyes of the Hawk, as it victoriously adjusted claws around its prey before flying away. We sat, in stunned silence, for several minutes ...the Dove left behind, clearly distressed. After several days' absence, it returned this morning. Perched on an upper mesquite tree branch, it called out the lament-like song for which they're known: "coo-OO-oo-oo-oo". Nine times, distinctly slower than normal... clear tonal qualities that bring to mind pentatonic scales found in Japanese music, Native American flutes or Scottish bagpipes. Grief, like music, transcends all language. |
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