Jason and his buddies have left after a couple of nights in the bunkhouse.
Their colour, noise and fun leaves with them.
The quiet nags at me as I stand on the deck
after the first laundry load,
Crossing the bridge to the roundhouse.
I realise I am no longer strafed
by protective swallows
or entertained by squadrons of martins.
They haven’t gone yet!
I tell myself
It’s too early,
I know they are still here.
As I approach the door to the roundhouse
I see a shape fly past the windows.
They are still here! –
A single bird- a swallow –
curls round the profile of my home,
slowly traverses between the buildings
parallel to the bridge,
and slips out of sight
past the southern gable of the bunkhouse.
It’s horrible they have gone
but it would have been worse
if they hadn’t said goodbye.