vigil | The Direction of Intention

Keeping Vigil [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on September 25, 2026 by davidrobinsoncreative

I’ve read that mourning doves are “strongly monogamous and often mate for life.” I’ve also read that, when one of the pair dies, “The survivor often sits in a nearby tree or roof and coos repeatedly, calling for a partner that will not answer.”

Lately, each afternoon, the mourning dove arrives to hold its vigil. It sits on the same wire in the same spot. Each day we watch for it and when it arrives, we hold vigil with it. We watch. We know that its partner will not appear. We wait for it to know. It is silent.

“It’s so sad,” Kerri whispers. I nod.

This dove reminds me of the last time I saw my great-aunt Dorothy. Del had died suddenly and she was heartbroken. It was the first and only time I saw this powerful mountain woman wearing a dress. Emerald green. I almost did not recognize her. As a boy I’d followed her up mountains, unable to keep up. In her grief she was barely standing. She passed a few months later; a broken heart.

I had my annual physical yesterday. The doctor asked me if I had a will. Then, she asked if there was someone who knew my wishes. I thought of Kerri waiting for me in the reception area. I answered easily, “Yes.” For a moment I was overcome with gratitude; I have not always been able to answer, “Yes,” so I repeated my answer, “Yes.”

Yes.

Sitting on the examination table, I shifted my weight, the paper crinkled. I thought of the mourning dove, the weight of grief sitting on the wire. Dorothy. Loneliness. Heart break. Gratitude. Kerri waiting for me. The paper crinkled. The doctor listened to my heart.

Today, the mourning dove did not return. We held our vigil for it none-the-less.

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE MOURNING DOVE

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Filed under: Gratitude, KS Friday, Love, Uncategorized | Tagged: artistry, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, Gratitude, grief, heart, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, loss, love, mourning, mourning doves, story, studio melange, the melange, vigil | Leave a comment »

Keeping Vigil [David’s blog on KS Friday]

Posted on May 23, 2025 by davidrobinsoncreative

“I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.” ~ e.e. cummings

Our pals shared an adorable photo: their little granddaughter sits on a plastic chair waiting and watching for a single tulip to bloom. She is determined to hold her vigil until the flower opens.

It’s an adorable picture. Kerri sits on a plastic Adirondack chair waiting and watching to catch a photo of the black-capped chickadee emerge from the birdhouse. She is determined to hold her vigil until the tiny bird makes an appearance.

The birdhouse has been empty for years. We thought of it more as a backyard decoration than an actual residence for birds. We couldn’t believe it when we saw a chickadee squeeze through the hole and disappear. Soon long strands of grass hung over the doorway. The chickadee spouse stands guard. It forages and drops food into the house.

It is no small feat to see the world through the eyes of a child. The wonder of a tulip blooming. The astonishment of a chickadee nesting. I watch her watching and waiting, holding her breath with anticipation and I am full, full, full of gratitude that she has not blunted herself to the utter awe of this life. Reverence is so easy for a child, awash in firsts. It is much more difficult when the miracles seem known, ordinary, well worn, when we wrap ourselves in a blanket of been-there-done-that.

Why would we opt to live each day believing that we’ve seen it all before?

“People usually consider walking on water or in thin air a miracle. But I think the real miracle is not to walk either on water or in thin air, but to walk on earth. Every day we are engaged in a miracle which we don’t even recognize: a blue sky, white clouds, green leaves, the black, curious eyes of a child — our own two eyes. All is a miracle.” ~ Thich Nhat Hahn

read Kerri’s blogpost about THE BIRDHOUSE

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Filed under: Awakening, Gratitude, KS Friday | Tagged: artistry, bird watching, black cap chickadee, child's eyes, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, e.e. cummings, Gratitude, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, miracles, story, studio melange, the melange, thich nhat hahn, vigil | 2 Comments »

Hold Vigil [on saturday morning smack-dab.]

Posted on August 20, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

BabyCat waited until I was traveling. He was with Kerri long before I arrived in her life. I believe, to leave, he needed to have her all to himself. He passed suddenly, with little warning that something was wrong. She raced him to the vet. He was gone. In the blink of an eye.

When you wake up in the morning you never really know how your life will change that day.

We have a photograph that kills me every time look at it. Dog-Dog standing at the door, looking out. Not understanding. Holding vigil for BabyCat’s return. Sometimes I feel like I am Dogga standing at the door. I hear a sound in the house and think, “What’s that BabyCat doing now?”

And then I catch myself. Dog-at-the-door. Holding vigil.

read Kerri’s blogpost about MISSING BABYCAT

Filed under: smack-dab, Uncategorized | Tagged: aarp, artistry, BabyCat, cartoon, change, david robinson, davidrobinsoncreative.com, Dog-Dog, grief, holding vigil, Kerri Sherwood, kerri sherwood itunes, kerrianddavid.com, kerrisherwood.com, love, memory, middle age cartoon, pets, second chances, story, studio melange, the melange, two artists, vigil | 1 Comment »

Step Out Of Time [on DR Thursday]

Posted on January 13, 2022 by davidrobinsoncreative

The color was other-worldly. The morning was cool. Low clouds hung in the valley. We walked on a deep carpet of leaves through a white oak forest. We chatted. Periodically, Linda and Bill stooped to move branches off the path. I couldn’t take my eyes off the beech trees. The leaves of the beech were paradoxically soft yet electric, quietly luminous. I felt as if they were guardian spirits. Forest creatures. I could have watched them all day.

The path led to a tiny cemetery. Bill told stories of the man who owned the forest, now the newest resident in the grave yard. There were stones so weather-worn that the names and dates had vanished into time. The 19th century. We wandered. “Look at this one,” and we’d gather. Speculate on a life lived before electric light and power tools. The beech trees holding vigil. Another paradox: time made timeless.

I will paint my entire life and never be capable of capturing the color of the beech leaves. I have no name for the hue. Not to worry: the camera could not capture it, either. It was like attempting to photograph a specter. The life of the spirit dodged the lens.

The path led back to the road. The alpaca led the way. Stepping onto the asphalt felt like waking up after a long quiet sleep; blinking into time. Rip Van Winkle. I stood for a moment and wondered about the world we’d find, now that we were re-entering time. I was disoriented.

“Are you okay?’ Kerri asked, taking my hand.

“Yeah,” I said, “I just can’t stop thinking about those leaves.”

read Kerri’s blog post about THE LEAVES