“Location, Location, Location,” coos the realtor.  I can just imagine the avian exchange among the branches of my oak windbreak.

Within ten hours of the Mourning Doves’ successful fledging another pair of Mourning Doves took up residence.  Oooo ah ooooo  ooooo.  The male presents some roots, small and branchy, to his mate.  He flies off with a “wh whh wh wh wh” whir of wings, returning to the conveniently tilled garden below to pick and sort through some more. Meanwhile the female  tucks the gift into the gutter nest, refurbishing the space for her brood to be.

Cautiously I pause before continuing to make my way softly upstairs, collecting details like roots, tucking them into memories for my stories to be.  Great location.

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