Swallows

“Swallows”

When the days grow longer and the evenings warmer, I look forward to the extra daylight after work.  Instead of rushing in from the cold on a dark winter’s night, I walk around the yard and enjoy the time before sunset.  When those days arrive I think of my boys.  We explored and adventured together.  We fished together.  We walked in the woods together.  We dug up bugs and other creatures together.  We watched birds together.  I don’t know what day we first saw the swallows, but I’ll never forget sharing that time with my sons.       
  The evening was not unlike any other.  I back my truck into the driveway and there are two smiling faces waiting for me.  As much as I want to take off my boots and relax, I know the boys have other plans.  We walk around the yard.  We inspect the garden for pests.  Then something catches my ear.  The noise began as barely perceptible.  Then it grew.  It was the ice cream man.  The pied piper of the neighborhood, he puts all the children in a trance with a catchy Scott Joplin tune.  My boys were no different.  They asked me if I had any money.  We walked to the van and ordered our treats.  We ate our ice cream at our favorite hangout, five steps of composite decking with cedar rails and balusters painted white.  Hands dripping and sticky, we talked about anything and everything.  For a five and seven year old, it was mostly about games, toys and what kind of animal or bug they found.  That is when we first saw the swallows.  We looked up and were all mesmerized. 
    The sky was beautiful.  It was late evening just before the sun sets.  The sky was a soothing hue of azure.  Any clouds were highlighted in gold by the setting sun.  The trees framed our view on all sides.  The birds were oblivious to the beauty around them. 
    I had neither seen nor paid any attention to a swallow before.  My sons pointed them out to me.  We thought they might be bats until our outdoorsman neighbor corrected us.  “Nope”, he said, “those are barn swallows.  The bats don’t come out until after dark.”  The swallows were everywhere.  Little silhouettes filling the sky.  Their flying skill would make a fighter pilot jealous.  The birds turned and dove and climbed with such ease.  There were near collisions, but my boys and I never witnessed a crash.  They did not fly in unison, as other flocks or schools of fish.  They were all on their own mission, with orders having come from their stomachs.  A mosquito up there did not stand a chance.  We watched them until the sun goes down and the bats come out. 
    I do not see my boys as often as I once did.  I do not live with them now.  And although I see them lots of times, it is not the same as it was before.  Most days, I back my truck into an empty house.  I can take my boots off and relax.  But I don’t want to relax.  I want to fish, walk in the woods, dig up bugs and watch swallows. 
    When sunset approaches, I look to the sky to enjoy the changing colors and the birds buzzing around.  The swallows still come back every spring.  And when the boys and I are together we stop and look up at our own private air show, until the sun goes down again.