In the summers when I was growing up, I would waken to the sounds of barn swallows. They perched on a electric wire that connected the house to the barn just outside my window, in between feasting on mosquitoes and other bugs.
SWALLOWS BRIGHT
In the morning's brightness
As delicious day warmed the chilly night
Swallows hawked above the surface of the
Shallow, green-scummed pond
Some insect bevy provided early brunch
For the aerial dance of flashing blues and buffs
Among the paths of swooping swallows
Flashed the yellow-tipped tails of cedar waxwings
Taking their turns at the repast
But they, more staid,
Perched at the end of each flight
In the overhanging willow branches
As though to say "I made it!"
While swallows fled up the sky in joyful abandon
I would like to hear the whippoorwills at the farm this year, if whippoorwills still come there.
In peace,
Cherie