dark waiting rain clouds
the mourning dove’s pulsing call
kneads them like bread dough
My great-grandmother called mourning doves “rain crows,” because she believed that they predicted rain. But the one’s in my backyard could also be called “sun crows” or “wind crows” or “humidity crows” and so on, since they’re always uttering their cooOOoo-woo-woo-woooo’s, though perhaps they do so with more frequency when rain is on the way.
I can’t remember which came first in the writing of this haiku: that some clouds remind me of bread dough or that the dove’s pulsing call reminds me of the act of kneading dough. But when I discovered the combination of this image and verb, I felt delight and gratitude. And I was surprised. Kneading changes the dough by working air into it and by stretching the gluten strands so that the mass has structure and rises. When doves knead the rain clouds with their calls, they’re not only weather predictors but weather influencers.
How you feel about my haiku will probably be influenced by how you hear about the mourning dove’s call. As plaintive? Auspicious? Ominous? Comforting? A blend of those feelings? Something else?