Swallow

That March morning at dawn

I left the warm bed

To go downstairs

And stand outside

While light and dark were reconciled.

The air was filled with morning sounds

-              the thunderous Robin

-              The whisper of wind and tree

Each sound a breath to help explain,

And each a calling

We might come to understand.

Soon will come Swallow

Smile shaped

To lift us truly into Summer

With his gossip of far away

And his slicing through the air.

In March we await the heartleap

That attends the arrival of this crucial piece

Of the puzzle that is each year.

© Pearse O’Shiel