The Southern Baptist Disaster Relief folks have been in my yard all day. Chainsaws and ladders and ropes. They’ve already taken down two trees and are working on the third (and biggest).
But I want to tell you about the pine tree.
During the tornado that whirled through our neighborhood last week, this pine tree snapped in half. The top part filled our yard. Today, a man climbed into it, cutting a few limbs before felling it.
A mourning dove sat on the boughs, watching him work.
She watched him take apart, limb from limb, the tree she’d lived in.
Eventually, he climbed down, made cuts all around the trunk and within moments, the tree fell. The dove flew out of the tree just as it fell.
“Mourning doves are dumb,” the man told me. “She’ll be around for the next few days, looking for the tree. She’s confused right now.”
That was four hours ago. She’s still around. She swoops near the stump, perches on the electrical wire gazing where the tree had been this morning.
She’s confused because, I’m sure, she remembers what home looked like. And now it doesn’t look like that anymore.
I do understand.
I really do.