Miracle

 Dear reader,

The barn swallow is the most widespread species of swallow in the world, occurring on all continents, with vagrants reported even in Antarctica.

The barn swallow is a bird of open country that normally nests in man-made structures and consequently has spread with human expansion.  It builds a cup nest from mud pellets in barns or similar structures and feeds on insects caught in flight.  This species lives in close association with humans and its insect-eating habits means it is tolerated by them; this acceptance was re-inforced in the past by superstitions regarding the bird and its nest.  There are frequent cultural references to the barn swallow in literary and religious works due to both its living in close proximity to humans and its annual migration.

Folk Lore:  In many places a swallow nesting in the house brought good luck, in other places, swallow nests were thought to protect buildings from fire and lightening.  Disturbing a swallow's nest would bring bad luck and would make the cow's milk bloody, or dry up altogether.

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From William Blake  September 23rd  1800 in Sussex

'The villagers of Felham are not meer Rustics; they are polite and modest. Meat is cheaper than in London, but the sweet air and the voices of winds, trees and birds, and the odours of the happy ground, makes it a dwelling for immortals.  Work will go on here with God speed.  A roller and two harrows lie before my window.  I met a plow on my first going out at my gate the first morning after my arrival, and the Plowboy said to the Plowman, 'Father, the Gate is Open.'

 

From Gilbert White  September 23rd 1781 in Hampshire

'Begin to light fire in the parlour.'

 

From Gilbert White  September 25th 1771 in Hampshire

'Hedge-sparrow begins its winter note.'

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Miracle

 

 

Rich in England’s spring,

cow parsley entrancing

in dog-rosed hedge,

the fecund earth lush green,

a baby swallow

hatches in a Suffolk barn,

to the cries of gulls

flying over mudflats,

over sea-lavender.

 

This small bird grows

embracing our summer warmth,

swooping on insects caught

above rolling grasslands.

It dips and tumbles gracefully,

trouble free.

 

But what instinct tells of winter’s cold?

This bird, hand-sized, will

fly over icy Pyrenees,

thirst through the parched Sahara,

soar and glide on trade winds,

south to The Cape of Africa

drawn, inexplicably, to the heat

of the southern sun.

 

In early spring does

this swallow’s courageous heart

grow restless, homesick for 

a Suffolk barn?

Is it a miracle that some force

of nature returns this minute bird

to its birth-nest by the English sea?

Who knows, but it seems so to me.

 

 

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With very best wishes, Patricia