morning

Morning in the world.
I emgerge from the front door of the chateau.
On the roof there is a white dove.
The first time I've seen one here.
Ever.
We've occasional visits from buckshee grey ring necked doves whom I take as messengers from the Dad.
My rather fantasistic arrangement with heaven is that robins may be a message from the Mammy, and doves might be interpreted as from the Dad.
But a white dove gets my attention.
Since I've never seen one in the garden before.
I can't help thinking it might really be from the Dad.
What is he telling me?
We stare at each other for ten minutes.
Then the dove turns round.
The wing that has been facing away from me has distinctive markings.
Most curious.
Black splotches in the white.
I mean he has individual black feathers amid the white.
The meaning is clear.
They represent his children.
My brothers and sisters.
They were one of my father's wings.
And the other was his wife.
By the grace of God.