Growing up, we used to spend summer weekends camping in the Catskills. At dusk we’d hike down to a little swimming hole. I would lie on my back and watch the shallows zooming. The only place I saw barn swallow was on those camping trips so they are forever associated, in my mind, with lazy summer evenings.
Imagine my delight when I have started seeing them at dusk swooping and diving in my own yard:
Swallow Flight by Sara Teasdale
I love my hour of wind and light,
I love men’s faces and their eyes,
I love my spirit’s veering flight
Like swallows under evening skies.
I wasn’t used to seeing them in backyards so when I first spotted them a couple of weeks ago I wondered why the bats were out so early. Apparently I’m not the only one to confuse bats and swallows.
from Bats by D.H. Lawrence
Look up, and you see things flying
Between the day and the night;
Swallows with spools of dark thread sewing the shadows together.
A circle swoop, and a quick parabola under the bridge arches
Where light pushes through;
A sudden turning upon itself of a thing in the air.
A dip to the water.
And you think:
“The swallows are flying so late!”
You can read the rest of D.H. Lawrence’s “Bat” at the Poetry Foundation.
Gearbox and Pickle go back to school next week. I pick up the book I was writing in May to finish it. Soon the swallows will leave for South America and we will put the stress of this crazy summer behind us.
For more Poetry Friday, go visit Dori at Dori Reads.