THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 19The pair of mourning doves nesting in the planter outside my window are parents of two chicks. One of them was glaring at me as I was taking the picture. The adults have been coming back to the same nest for three years. These two chicks are big enough now to be very demanding. I think they will be able to fly away in a couple of days. The mother is more patient with them than the father. He comes in with food, feeds the greedy chicks and leaves immediately. She sticks around for awhile; and when the chicks get rowdy, she hops up on a perch above them until they settle down. She tolerates my getting very close. We know each other; she has been watching me write for weeks.

This E.E. Cummings poem says it all.

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who should fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

e.e. cummings