The mystery of severally splayed Mourning Dove feathers in perfect circumference persisted for days.

Left, right, all around the circle, neither dove nor trail of explanation could be found for the curiosity.

Only later, happening to turn and spot this young Cooper’s Hawk from a second-story window, was the lack of lateral ground evidence suddenly made clear.

We have only to look up, and there behold a purposeful gaze above the placid gardens of backyard feeders.


The mild-mannered Mourning Dove visits for thistle seed and finds it spilt beneath the strung sock where Gold and House Finches feed.




Finally, full or flushed, its whistling wings whinny in lift.

Listen now as a faint and soothing coo sounds, something like a languid owl’s hoot, gently from the trees.