The Symphony Goes Silent

I don’t notice when they arrive. Only when they leave. In spring and summer, the barn swallows make our homes theirs, building nests on the barn and house’s second story window ledges. As the summer wears on, their numbers multiply and we get used to the birds swooping by the windows to their nests, to the droppings that pile on the downspouts and ground below. The cat ignores the swallows’ dives, and I come to expect the birds flying behind the tractor as I mow, kicking up insects – a moveable feast. Then, on the last day of August, they leave on their migration to South America. I am struck by the silence and stillness.