the sun-dyed pomp of plaintive hursts immerse my soul in colour
Saint Lawrence sheds his vehement tears the axis of the year is shifted,
watched our Swifts on their way out
the charging weeks are done.
First stanza a forethought Although the departure saddens, it heralds change-Autumn and leaf-turn. the second inbound avian wave- waders, wildfowl, thrushes- the raptors descend from the highlands to the marshes.
The Tears of St Lawrence- colloquialism for Perseids- meteors associated with Swift-Tuttle debris mid August
Swifts seem to mass over the bay at this time "last-in -first-out migrants" could the Perseids be the celestial trigger for their gathering, a seasonal clock-tick to move them on? Their numbers fly quietly, this time, a contrast to the scything charges that screamed about the old town chimneys as the young birds knew their wings