We call it
the Gathering, the fall migration of our barn swallows. They sit on the power
lines, sway in the breeze, and seem to count their numbers before leaving.
They’ve
abandoned their nests; the young have followed them into the sky. Now they wait
until everyone shows up.
Who is
missing? Are they counting heads? Or are they looking for the youngest to
strengthen? Do they wait on the weather?
They begin
their gather at the end of August, filling the lines until it curves down into
a half-smile.
We hurried
them along this year. When our barn began to lean, we knew its days were
numbered. Built in 1918, it had served its purpose and did not owe us a dime. Better
to put it down gently, lovingly than let it fall in pain, piece by piece.
We dropped
it and the barn swallows immediately began their Gathering.
And then,
one day we woke, and the barn swallows were gone.
Awww. Poor barnless swallows.
ReplyDeleteSo where will they next next year?
ReplyDelete@Linda
ReplyDelete*snicker*
@Alex
Probably the new shed that we are constructing on the same spot.
And our garage. Our chimney. Front porch. Patio.
What a beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteA touching post. I'm sure the barn swallows will find a new home.
ReplyDeleteHi *waves* I'm new here.
ReplyDeleteI love this sweet post. Lovely.
~Lola
Maybe they were waiting until it felt right? Isn't that what we always do before we fly? Wait until it feel right? SoO glad to meet you fellow over active imaginator. You have already given me much to smile about:)
ReplyDelete