Splat-a-tat-tat!

Splat-a-tat-tat!
A shock at the door!

You're a new swallow fledgling;
you've grown, stretched your wings
and flown. No harm in that.

But when your nest is
above our front door
it's soon covered with
nervous first-flight-splat!

poem - first draft © Celia Warren 2011

... so I need to take a hose-pipe to the front door! The birds have all flown, but when I stuck my head out just now to photograph the empty nest, a swallow flew right over the top of my head. He'd obviously been making a nostalgic return visit to the old homestead of his happy egg-days. I do love the birds but, oh, what a mess! The nest, on the other hand, is very neat, compact and practical.


(Amazed I never noticed the birds' building, laying, back-and-forthing, but we tend to live at the back of the house, where it's quieter and we have sea-views. So I never realised just how close their activity was. I fondly imagined they were nesting in the eaves next door! Bless 'em!!!)