Swifts

I saw the swifts again today, High on the wing and weaving the crags to the clouds. I watched them last from my Fall lawn, Flickering between fantasy and truth, And whistling their secrets to the wind. They’d vanished brusquely with the cold, Disappearing from the dusk goodbyes as summer left our skies, Unlike the swallows, bustling importantly on line and post, They’d waited for no farewell waves or final kiss, To say that they’d be missed. As winter shuffled by, We were ruffled by the freeze on social graces, Uneasy and alarmed by incomes lost, And by the deep set season’s chills, But I missed most the swifts; Their lilting laughter, Carefree flight, And convoluted stories of their journeys and beliefs; Their persistent beckoning to live a life of light, And how they linked so easily in a world gone tight with fright. As August followed dark July, And Springtime trailed, Open handed, hollow eyed and dry, Bringing only broken promises to fill an empty lake, Their voices faded out of sight. Beasts became mere breathing bones, And rivers dwindled, Lost amongst the stones, ‘Till finally, the soft and unexpected mist stole in, Reminding us of summer scents, And how the swifts would wheel and spin. Now belatedly, October’s here, Borne on the shoulders of the spray, And holding armfuls filled with rain, Dropping them abundantly, One by one… by one by one, and faster till they merge and fall like encores, Welcomed by us all. But still there’s something that I miss, And so today, When briefly sun has lit the blinking cliffs, I climb into the arms of lichened rock, To listen for the swifts. I see them first, Scooping up our thoughts and lifting them above the blue, Connecting them in skeins of freedom and delight, Their calls an echoing of love, Their laughter caught upon the wind. I smile and leave them sewing circles out of air, Round and round, Beginnings into ends, In endless layers on layers of silver summer prayers, From dark to light and back again, Forever on the wing.