White Story Doves
5
Now, a set of white doves are sitting on our balcony, looking at me in the funny way they do, while moving their tiny heads from one side to the other. I look them back in the eyes.
“Hello”, I whisper in my mind, “Can you tell me what happened at our house that summer day in 1953?” I smile. “You could if you were Persian Story Doves. But you are not from the stories. You are just doves.” I think to myself, “You aren’t even able to understand me, which is fair since I can’t understand you either.”
“Long, long time ago, when people were still good, they could understand the animal’s language.” my grandmother used to tell us when she told us stories, not as often as Ezy.
“But I guess the world is now changed and is filled with bad people who are not good enough to understand your tongue,” I say to the doves.