THE LONE SWALLOWS 7 



see the arrival, any day now two dark 

 arrowheads fell with mighty swoop from 

 heaven, arrowheads that did not miss their 

 mark. There was a frail flutter of feathers 

 in the sunshine, a red drop on the ancient 

 sward, a scuttle of terrified rabbits, a faint 

 scream trembling and dying in the blue. 

 Then only the murmur of the sea far below 

 and the humming of the single telegraph 

 wire near the pathway. The peregrine 

 falcons had taken the lone and beloved 

 swallows. 



t.s. 



