They all left yesterday.
I said my good-byes and waved to family and
friends as they left after a weekend of talking, eating, drinking, trips out and
catching up. Content and happy, I went
to bed with a mind full of images from a busy, fun-packed weekend and awoke
this morning in the afterglow of the happy events. I went downstairs and opened
the blinds and my heart sank. While I
has been so engrossed in my own affairs I hadn’t noticed the other visitors
departing.
The house-martins arrived in May and noisily
set up home again in the eaves of the village houses, quickly becoming constant
companions whose chatter and movements were the backdrop to my daily life. In that time, these small birds brought much joy
and comfort to me and the other humans they chose to live amongst for the summer
months. I sat watching them flying through
the air, diving, darting, gliding, riding the air currents and following and interacting
with each other in ways that could only be interpreted as playing. My eyes followed them, as did my heart, when
they soared up into the sky and my spirits were raised by the sense of freedom
and joy they appeared to be experiencing.
I enjoyed their company from the first day and
I soon grew to love these little birds as they and I came to know each
other. When they noticed me in the
garden, they changed the course of their flight and swooped low over my head,
chattering and singing even more loudly as they went. I often tried to sit and read but my eyes
quickly wandered from the page up to the blue, cloudless sky and the aerial
performance of these beautiful black and white birds. Even when indoors, my thoughts wandered to the house-martins and
I would stop whatever I was doing to look out and watch them. It seemed impolite to ignore them and a waste
of a priceless opportunity to witness their captivating antics. I noticed my neighbours
felt the same way for I often saw them stopping in the road or interrupting their
gardening jobs to stand and watch and admire our feathered visitors.
And that is why they have been so important
and precious to me. I was constantly
aware that they were merely visitors, their presence brief and transient, a precious
gift to be savoured for a short time.
Over the past ten days, I watched
them all the more closely knowing their departure was imminent and every evening I went into the garden and
quietly bid farewell to them in case they were gone in the morning. But each new day, their chatter and calls reached
my ears and reassured me of further happy hours in their company.
But this morning, I knew as soon as I was
awake that they had gone for it was so quiet, with only the occasional chirping
of a sparrow or two breaking the silence.
All day, the sky has been grey and a heavy
blanket of cloud hangs over the village.
Man, animal and bird are quiet, subdued.
It is as though all of nature, human and non-human, is mourning the
departure of the house-martins and already missing the vivacious beings that
filled the air with song and joy while they were with us. I feel particularly sad for I missed their
last days here, so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot about my non-human
friends who had brought me so much happiness during their stay.
I stood in the garden for a long while and
saw the blue skies of summer again and the flash of their while bellies as they
flew above me, the same abdomens that appeared blood-red when they flew through
the light of the setting sun. Silently,
from the depths of my soul, I sent them a message of thanks and wished
them a safe journey. And I started counting the days until
their return.
The wonder of it all is how these small
birds can have such a huge impact on a human life.
