Every morning they greet you with their cooing and cuddling.

They perch on the thick branches of the naked tree just outside your window, warbling and fluffing their feathers and flitting around each other in an ancient mating dance.  Those two are your writing companions, punctuating each of your sentences with their full-bellied song.  This time of year, the leaves of the tree do not hide their presence--and so you see them, in all their glory, as they go about their day, flirting, singing, flying.

You need no other music but their song and the flap of their wings as they wind around each other, circle the tree and dart around other birds--their neighbors the finches and sparrows.  They remind you that spring is almost here, that the earth is already preparing for the new season, that seeds are sprouting in the ground, getting ready to push their little heads skyward. 

These doves are proof that life is more than just one keystroke after another, but a continuous dance, a never ending song, a bright burst of flight over the tree, out of range of your windowsill, and towards the mountains.  They are your evidence that life is in the quiet moment where you pause and simply listen to the doves' song and watch as they playfully chase each other from branch to branch and then take flight.