They arrive early in spring. My two bird houses have hosted the family of Purple Martins for more than twenty years. These swallows leave a notorious veil around my house zooming in and out, knowing their presence is adored. The moment they leave to migrate to their next stoop, I know the summer will end soon.
In our Space the colors of the grass escape. The Weight of the clouds, the Spirit of the Sun, Son. Traps the beauty there. Tell them their Beauty is the path to light
The Sun of the Flowers