Tuesday, August 28, 2018

beginning to be

We saw the mother first, feeding her babies a mouthful at a time. In and out she darted, a sliver of cobalt blue, her nest a tangle of dry grass and mud under the porch roof.
Four little baby birds.
Four startlingly gaping beaks.
When we arrived Monday afternoon, they were all beak, all chirp and cheep and fuzz, wavering at nest edge.
My granddaughter named them Eeny, Meeny, Miney and Mo.
When we left three days later, they were beginning to be swallows, sleekly slim, eyes black and bright as beads. 

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