“The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects, the fall traveler southward but returning northward early in the spring,” Walt Whitman
I squatted leaning my back against the open gate in the pole barn. I was there to watch the barn swallows.
One couple is making a nest on the rafters.
I only had ten minutes before we had to leave for an appointment, but I knew if I was very still, the barn swallows might land while I was there.
And they did, first on the ledge on the wall of the barn then, one on the nest and the other above him on the rafter.
They didn’t move, just sat there, as still as I was.
Then Fanny came and gave me a nudge with her nose. She wanted me to scratch her. She stood between me and the birds, but as I reached up to give her neck a scratch, the barn swallow couple vanished in a whirling dance.
They aren’t threatened by the sheep or donkeys, but my slightest movement scared them off.
I’ll go back, during a morning meditation. I’ll bring my sheep skin, so I can sit comfortably and make watching the swallows my meditation for the day.
After an hour together, maybe they’ll get used to me, and learn I mean them no harm.
Merricat, Kim and Issachar in the pole barn, after grazing and Kitty Anne too.
