Swimming with Doves

Coo. Coo.

Calmly the doves do.
 I see and hear them,
I coo.

Another appears on the branch 
just above my swimming pool,
looking down at me.

Now, another and another 
until there are four.

Of what interest am I to them?
How different is swimming than flying, I wonder? 
Both involve arms and wings, 
and a certain lightness 
of being held by air, by water.

Coo, coo in answer,
 emanates from the doves.
 I coo.
They are silent. 
I expect another coo, 
but none comes.

They recognize through observation,
but do not act on that recognition 
in any way.

Is this their morning's entertainment?
Patiently they perch,
observing me in this foreign land of water.
I swim.

Coo!

It's over.
I disappear before they do.
I retreat behind my sliding glass door 
and peek out at them, still on the branches.

My unfounded expectation is that they 
might dive into the water.

Instead, they flutter away
into the morning blue sky
with no discernible emotion.

Water, sky, wings, birds, arms, humans.
Another gift
in grace.

______________________________________________________

This is the first summer I have stayed in Palm Springs, California, as my job is seasonal and runs from November 1 to April 30 each season.  Due to the risk of Covid 19, I am here in the desert.
With the heat in the triple digits, I find myself lucky to swim in my pool, just outside my Casita door in the morning and after sunset.
The doves nearby always come to land on this tree and it seems they watch me. I coo, they don't coo back. I keep hoping they will.  Maybe one day...
The words above encapsulate this pause in the day's occupation and allows me to cogitate on communication and how, even trying our best, there are barriers.

Coo on that,

Strolling Ursula