The swallows are missing.
Regular readers will know that I have had a love-hate relationship with the colony of swallows that homestead in the rafters of the patio. A few brave avian couples managed to outlast Marta's concerted military operations against their nest-building.
Those happy few raised two sets of chicks during the summer. Filling the patio with the sound of new life, and filling the air with the joy of acrobatics. My own private Cirque du Soleil. Unfortunately, they also filled the patio and its furniture with a regular layer of guano.
When I returned from Oregon, I saw about five swallows flying around almost without purpose. Sunday there were two. Tuesday there were none.
No chirps greeted me when I turned on the light. No birds zoomed through the patio to the open sky. It was a bit eerie. As if the king snake had returned and had a full day of eating.
Last night I went to the kitchen cupboard and discovered that I was pulling a Mother Hubbard. I had failed to buy any groceries for meals this week.
Easy solution: swing by the taco restaurant.
But first, I needed to replenish my peso pile. Off I went to the ATM at the bank -- and there they were.
I know one of the basic rules of blogging is to never leave home without your camera. I wish I had followed the rule.
Because soaring around the bank and on all of the neighboring wires were my swallows, and my neighbor's swallows, and all of the swallows for who knows how far around. All looking for a place to alight. Apparently, for the night.
Looking at the sidewalk, it appears that they had all been waiting for Tippi Hedren for some time.
What I do not know is where they are going. Certainly, not north. Summer in Melaque; winter in Oregon is the type of stupid decision I would make. I understand they are heading to South America for the winter.
But wherever they are headed, they are going as a group, and they are leaving soon.
I will try to get a photograph tomorrow. It may simply be of de-birded electrical wires.
That night I went up on the roof and just watched the stars and planets for an hour. And I started wondering as well when it will be my time to migrate away from Melaque.
But, like the swallows, that is a question to be answered another day.
Today I simply cherish the experience of watching them pack up their bags to head off on their bird adventures.
For the new generation of swallows born on my patio this summer, I wish: Godspeed.
Regular readers will know that I have had a love-hate relationship with the colony of swallows that homestead in the rafters of the patio. A few brave avian couples managed to outlast Marta's concerted military operations against their nest-building.
Those happy few raised two sets of chicks during the summer. Filling the patio with the sound of new life, and filling the air with the joy of acrobatics. My own private Cirque du Soleil. Unfortunately, they also filled the patio and its furniture with a regular layer of guano.
When I returned from Oregon, I saw about five swallows flying around almost without purpose. Sunday there were two. Tuesday there were none.
No chirps greeted me when I turned on the light. No birds zoomed through the patio to the open sky. It was a bit eerie. As if the king snake had returned and had a full day of eating.
Last night I went to the kitchen cupboard and discovered that I was pulling a Mother Hubbard. I had failed to buy any groceries for meals this week.
Easy solution: swing by the taco restaurant.
But first, I needed to replenish my peso pile. Off I went to the ATM at the bank -- and there they were.
I know one of the basic rules of blogging is to never leave home without your camera. I wish I had followed the rule.
Because soaring around the bank and on all of the neighboring wires were my swallows, and my neighbor's swallows, and all of the swallows for who knows how far around. All looking for a place to alight. Apparently, for the night.
Looking at the sidewalk, it appears that they had all been waiting for Tippi Hedren for some time.
What I do not know is where they are going. Certainly, not north. Summer in Melaque; winter in Oregon is the type of stupid decision I would make. I understand they are heading to South America for the winter.
But wherever they are headed, they are going as a group, and they are leaving soon.
I will try to get a photograph tomorrow. It may simply be of de-birded electrical wires.
That night I went up on the roof and just watched the stars and planets for an hour. And I started wondering as well when it will be my time to migrate away from Melaque.
But, like the swallows, that is a question to be answered another day.
Today I simply cherish the experience of watching them pack up their bags to head off on their bird adventures.
For the new generation of swallows born on my patio this summer, I wish: Godspeed.
