The Mourning Dove

A mostly true story about a brave pair of Mourning Doves named Ozymandias and Nefertiri, who built a nest in my wife’s basil plant.

This is Nefertiri in the Basil (taken through the window on my phone)

Ozymandias finished a quick scan of the sky and found it empty beneath the full sun. He surveyed the earth beneath his perch atop the tallest saguaro. Empty, as far as he could tell. But the desert was in full bloom, the heat of late spring climbed in waves, and the dangers of the ground knew how to hide. The wildcat was patient and silent, the house cat was clumsy but quick, and the snake could be anywhere, waiting within the prickly pear or even in plain sight, disguised as a gathering of dust. The time for mourning doves to nest was the time for their enemies to hunt.

Ozymandias leaped from the saguaro with a whistle of his wings, circled the green wisps of the Palo Verde tree once and alit on the brick wall. He surveyed the ground again. Still empty, as far as he could tell. He called to Nefertiri to let her know he was near and that he’d be back soon. The melancholy rise and fall of his voice would go unanswered. He knew where she was. She was with the nest. Hidden and secret within the spot he had selected. It was almost time.

The man watched from a window, distracted by the scene outside. A mourning dove had dropped again from the top of the wall to the ground on the other side, the desert side, then he returned. The man…