An English In Kentucky


















June 4th 2010    Tim Candler

    Barn Swallows have fledged.  And, god help me, yesterday I touched the pot in which a single Wax Gourd seedling now has four miniature gourd leaves.    

    Amongst Barn Swallows, the ceremony of fledging the first brood could for them be respite in the pattern of this early summer.  In the morning young will follow adults high and low across the open spaces before settling on electric lines where young sit gossiping and wait to be fed, while between forays adults might discuss the purpose of a second brood.  And I can say this because this spring only one pair of Barn Swallows returned from their holidays. 

    I am not one to promote the condition of childhood.  Childhood and youth amongst the mammalian is a mostly sneaky and demanding phase, which I think reaches a pinnacle of awfulness in my own species.   Yet it would be sad to loose a generation of Barn Swallows, even though I would quite understand their decision to fly and bask through the remaining months of summer.

     There are some who might suggest that I too was once a younger thing and that I should find sympathy in my gnarled heart for the condition of youthfulness otherwise existence for me may not have occurred.  But as with all rules there are kittens that turn into cats.   And I will remind myself that Creative Is, and who knows perhaps the future is mechanical and perhaps there will be Wax Gourd.  


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