The Doves

The doves arrive, gentle creatures heads bobbing as they walk, plucking stray seeds blown free across the ground. Paired matches, clutching together in the softly shadowed rays of early morning sun to welcome the day. Peerless counterparts, solitary and alone scanning the demarcation zones marked and policed by energetic squirrels. Boundaries are set, locked in place periphery margins of time and space held orderly by the season. Winter, spring, majestic intertwined interludes painted purple, black, blue, creamy orange by intermittent cold and warmth rising and falling. Signs of the time, forewarning harbingers of time cycled in conscientious discreteness dandle acclimation to greet the age of change. The doves come, peering through the gleam of light and its reflected mirrored surfaces long methodic glances at the systematic march of time.