a fool for love

When it comes to being a fool for love, I have to plead guilty ... guilty ... guilty.

On the street and sidewalk just outside the porch, occasional mourning doves went about their business this morning. They walked and pecked beneath matted grey skies, smooth and silky as the sky itself, their greys and tans somehow perfect in a perfect time.

I suspect their sidewalk pecking was in aid of replenishing the bits of stone needed to make their gizzards function properly. Gizzards are the avian version of teeth and everyone needs to chew their food.

In the distance, their look-alikes coo-ed their 'mournful' coo's ... so soft I would not dare to touch it if I could.

Soft sky and silky feathers and walking to and fro ... what do mourning doves know of love? They are not fools.

That honor is reserved to me.