House Martin

A Letter to My New Neighbours

New Summer neighbours, you moved in early one morning fluttering, body thrumming, bearing gifts of sunlight and song, sunlight and song. When sun rises, bringing morning along with it, you rise too, as ready for today as for yesterday and the day before that, and the one before that.

You take to skies in twos, threes, fours making you-shaped shadows sliding across frosted-glass windows. And off. Swooping, twirling, pirouetting, climbing, soaring. Wings spread wide, rising, arcing, diving. Mid-air glideeeeeeeeeeeeeee

 
You are all day, twittering, chittering, chattering, whistling, calling, calling, calling, calling. All day, gliding, swooping, soaring, swirling, falling, falling, falling, falling.

Long sips in shallow waters, swaying branches, rustling leaves, slicing through summer skies. When day is done and night has come you and the day’s heat slip beneath eaves in twos, threes, fours making you-shaped shadows that slide across frosted-glass windows making this house home, home, home, home.