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The first swallow ..(and we’re not talking calf-rearing)

Mike reported the visitor;
passing the window.
I saw the shadow darken the room momentarily,
but was uncertain.
There are starlings nesting under the tin roof of the bunkhouse,
at evening they stand guard on the apex of the roof
architectural
like finials.
But Mike says: This wasn’t a starling.
Perhaps-
As lunch finishes, I see it.
A single bird, exploring the air above and around the buildings:
the forked tail makes it plain-
the first swallow.
I run out on the deck, yelling:
‘Welcome back buddy!’
At evening, we return from the hill to find Cathy watching housemartins reclaiming the nests that have lined the eaves since last summer.
She revels in the pair surfing the wind, charging at the house before climbing the air to the nests bracketed under the eaves.
These birds, their neighbours and offspring will be riding air currents swirling around the roundhouse for the next six months.
Welcome neighbours.

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