Yesterday was my birthday. Am I an old guy yet?
On my first day of being seventy-two, I was in Chisos Basin, and took a six-mile photography hike before lunch.
Yesterday, on my first day of being seventy-three, I didn't do much of anything. My wife took me to lunch, and my daughter served me coffee and cheesecake while we watched her small daughter paint herself and all she could reach with red strawberry sauce. My most strenuous activity yesterday was two sets of Yang Taiji in San Gabriel Park!
I have lamented before about the passing of the mourning dove. Gradually, the white-wings have taken over, and it's rare indeed to hear the voice of the mourning dove in our land. I sincerely hope that they have traveled north, and will continue to serenade others, until the raucous whitewings have chased them even further.
I joked, mostly to myself, that for a while, several years ago, the mourning doves would seem to sing out abundantly in the "mornings". Then, later in the day, the carpetbaggers from the south, the whitewings, would take up their noisemaking. I have noticed that they are rarely heard together.
This morning, just about dawn, there was a mourning dove in the neighborhood. My ears perked up, and I was thrilled by the sound for quite a while. I mumbled something that I'm sure my wife ignored completely, "The voice of the mourning dove is heard in the land." Thinking my quip was cute, witty, and original, I felt I must Google it. Lo and behold, I'm not so damn smart after all.
It might appear that those who speak of "jots and tittles", should read more. Certainly more than the King James.
The voice of the mourning dove was gone more or less immediately after I heard the first whitewing of the day.