The Visitors

We’ve had swallows since the first year the stone walls of our house went up; I guess they’re attractive because they’re all under cover: we have long porches and a big carport. It was a single nest that first year. And it’s still the first nest they come to upon their return each year after their annual migration to south America. This year we had three nests on the front porch, two on the back porch, and two under the carport. Summers are loud and messy.

Swallows aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, but they are mine. I guess it’s because everyone wants to feel wanted, and if birds are what you have then birds are what you get. Although, it’s probably the house they love rather than me, but it’s easy to pretend otherwise. Let’s just say we have an arm’s length relationship, after all, it is my house and I tolerate their poopy mess. Anyway, their arrival marks Spring as surely as the first bluebonnet, and I’m happy when they return.

But they’re gone now. One day in the last two weeks all the little broods took off and headed south, and they never even said goodbye. They just left. It’s quiet on the porches. But it’s a mixed blessing because the solitude means winter’s coming. Days will get short. Nights will get long. And cold will come. It will squeeze life down to a fine point, me. But that’s okay. I’ve studied solitude, and the house is warm inside. Plus, I know seasons come and seasons go. And one day next spring, there will be a flutter on the porch, and just like that, my company will return, and we’ll get on with the business of raising little bird families.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver’s Tale