Commitment and Moving On

They mate for life. I didn’t know. But this morning I saw them sitting, huddled side by side in The Naked Tree in the pouring rain, and I wondered. They were just sitting there, as though taking a shower together was nothing out of the ordinary, a daily routine. 

So I Googled Mourning Doves and sure enough. Partners for life. They share nest sitting duties while their two white eggs mature. They lay twice in the spring. If one is killed the other will stay at the site for days…mourning.

After the rain subsided they remained in The Tree, fluffing, preening, grooming each other, cooing softly all the while. Sometimes I see one of them sitting among the frangipani blossoms, calling and calling. An answering refrain comes from the rooftop next door and within moments they swoop together into the tree at the other side of my balcony which I suspect has become their new residence. A rustling and shaking of fearsome proportions ensues as they do what doves do in the privacy of their own home!

Ketut assures me that he will find a saw and remove the unsightly tree skeleton from my view. His hatchets weren’t up to the task but we agreed that a saw would do the trick. Now it’s a matter of finding one…all in good time…Bali time…rubber time. I think it will help the doves move on. It might help me, too.

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3 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Lottie Nevin
    Jul 30, 2012 @ 06:37:20

    It is so sad that Ketut murdered the tree, it really is. I love how you describe the doves and their habits. There is something very comforting in the way that you write. I’m not sure if that is the right adjective to use, but I hope you understand what I mean and know that it is meant as a compliment.

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  2. Diane Struble
    Jul 31, 2012 @ 02:48:21

    I thought that the naked tree was supposed to grow back given a little time.

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    • writingforselfdiscovery
      Jul 31, 2012 @ 03:42:08

      Hi Di,

      I’m happy to know that I can’t leave out any piece of the story!

      You are correct in your assumption, Di. That was my initial interpretation of his explanation, too. But a few days later the sound of chopping took me to the edge of the balcony and there was Ketut with a hatchet chipping away at the trunk about 8 feet from the ground. With hand signals and pantomime and my new Indonesian/English dictionary he made me understand that the tree looks ugly. (Did I need to be told?) He was cutting if off level with other bushes and greenery surrounding it so it wouldn’t stand out. Then it would grow new branches (in about a month) from that point. He went back to chipping.

      However, the hatchet proved unequal to the task so The Tree stands, even uglier than before, looking like a beaver gnawed at the middle and left without finishing. Ketut and I had another conversation. He needs a saw. The tree is too thick. Stay tuned. We are not without drama in this little corner of paradise!

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