Friday, April 19th 2013

Yesterday as I walked to and from campus the heat of an eighty-degree day made a line of sweat form on my hairline and the shirt I was wearing to cling to my skin. The sun I was exposed to caused the bridge of my nose to sunburn a bit. It was as if Pittsburgh decided to skip spring altogether and race head first into summer.

     Today, however, the weather proceeds to surprise the city and bring in temperatures in the low fifties and a light drizzle on and off. I'm sitting on the bench in Baum with my knees close to my chest and the hood of my rain jacket covering my head. My exposed fingers feel the chill in the air, as does my nose. The dramatic change in weather however has not stopped the new visitors in the park who have been tricked into thinking summer was here.

     The last time I visited the park I saw a mourning dove perched in a tree. Today a muted gray dove sits on the rim of the trash can moving lazily to the right. I can't tell if it's a male or a female since I'm not sure if the coloring is different like a cardinal. The dove puffs out its chest like it's had a full meal and then raises its neck long and lean to let out its slow coo. It reminds me of the common loon in a way. The doves call transports me to northern Minnesota as a child lying in bed as the sun entered the open windows of the cabin and the echoed call of the loon on the lake both excited and haunted me. It was a wakeup call for me. The loon, a possible call of danger, separation, and longing. 

     The memory and the consistent cooing of the dove makes me wonder what birds use their calls for? Do higher tones mean different emotions? Are the speeds at which the bird calls play a role in communicating? What is the dove sitting on the trashcan calling out for?  Is the slow coo coo coo coo a longing for summer heat that was promised when the temperature reached above eighty?

         I know I will never know the exact reason behind these calls, but as the drizzling rain falls between the blooming new leaves of the trees I can’t help but let my imagination escape. Maybe a few blocks away another mourning dove hears the call and finds his or her way to Baum. Then the two doves will call together as they chase each other in and out of the tree branches. Then Baum won’t feel so gloomy or empty anymore.