I am fortunate enough to work at a company in which the owner had the creativity and foresight to install a nice-size fishing pond in the front yard of the business. She went a step further and had fish installed in the pond. Going one step further yet, she had small desert-loving trees planted, rock shores set in place around the pond, and a small patio built on the northeast corner of the pond. In the months that I have worked here, I have spent many a lunch break just enjoying this peaceful oasis in the desert. Of course with the coming of winter, the fish were less active and there were many days when I (no longer being a robust young man) simply could not sit out in the cold.
Ah, but one of the things about Texas is that winters can include some very summer-like days, such as today, in fact. So after eating my portion-controlled lunch, I could not resist the urge to go outside and sit in a certain comfortable chair on the patio. There, half in the sun and half in the shade, I could watch the tranquil waters or the occasional leap of a shiny perch, and while away the last fifteen minutes or so of my lunch break. With the temperature a balmy sixty-five, I left the confines of my office and walked across the rock walkway to the patio. My favorite chair was there waiting, so warm and inviting in the half-sun light.
I took my place in the chair, sunk into the solar-baked cushion, and let the sun infuse my poor rheumatic bones with glowing heat. And that is when I saw her...at least I think it was a her, and so it she will be a she for the duration of this little story. Apparently the rock pathway had muted my footsteps, and I was wearing soft-soled shoes. For whatever reason, the little gray dove did not hear my approach until it was too late. The poor bird was too afraid to fly, even to move at all. Then I saw that the dove's wing appeared to be broken, because she kept the wing sort of half-folded but away from her body. And she was looking straight into my eyes. Have you ever had occasion to really look into a dove's eyes? You have never had the opportunity to look into the eyes of a dove for many reasons, but if you ever get the chance, you should.
This little dove (no, she was not a baby, just of the small and fragile variety) kept her big brown eye locked into my own. Of course I know she must have thought that Death was standing only six feet away. She must have been terrified. But she did not move. At that moment I was distracted by a passing vehicle. When I looked back at the dove a few minutes later, she was still watching me. It appeared that she had relaxed somewhat, as her body was no longer so desperately pressed to the ground as it had been when I first became aware of her presence. Of course I have no "evidence" that this was the case, but it appeared to me that the little dove was looking deeper into my eyes. And I did the same. It seemed like I could look passed her eyelids and see deeply into a being that was so innocent and that seemed to possess no guile or even the capacity for deception. And I wondered what the little bird saw when she gazed into my own.
I suppose my imagination ran away with me, but I felt like the dove was sharing a little tranquility with me. And I was reminded that in the ancient days it was a probably a gray dove similar to this little dove that brought the olive branch back to Noah in the Ark, letting him know that life was returning to the lately flooded earth. That same dove was released a few weeks later and did not return. Noah knew then that the earth was dry and that he could release everyone and everything from the Ark. I was also reminded that it was a white dove that flew down from the sky and landed on the Good Shepherd's shoulder that day after Jesus was baptized by John. The little dove landed on the Lord's shoulder while a voice from somewhere above declared that the Good Shepherd was God's Beloved Son.
By now the lunch hour had dwindled away. It was time to go "clock in." The little dove still sat in that same spot just off the rocks, just above the water, its wing still extended and folded at an awkward angle. I feared that my friend, El Gato Gordo, would soon come along on his patrol and find the little dove sitting there, flightless with its broken wing. While I do not begrudge GG his meal, I did not want the little bird to become that meal. So, suddenly forming a plan of rescue, I very slowly and quietly approached the little dove. I could see that her tranquil repose was suddenly replaced with what can only be described as a "deer in the headlights look." Just as the tip of my finger was about to touch the dove, she gave a swift beat of her wings and flew away to some distant tree top. For she had no broken wing, or any other apparent ailment. And I had no pet dove to rescue. But I know I was blessed in those waning minutes of my lunch break, when I was allowed, for just a little while, to gaze into the eyes of a dove.
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