Marten noticed them first, the swallows darting into their nests in the skeletal tree beside the path.
The rest of us were preoccupied with looking for beavers by the beaver dam across the pond.
It is the natural way of things, the children and I, parents and young.
We walk hand in hand exploring, a lunch basket swung over my shoulder.
Little voices ask when we can stop and eat.
Impatient little birds demand their meal.
The swallows patiently dart back and forth.
Little ones dependent on big ones.
Feeding, nurturing, teaching,
until one day they fly away.
And the parents are left with an empty nest
and then the nest itself is empty
and the parents are gone too.
A friend's father passed away,
4 months after her mother.
It is the natural way of things,
but I have no experience with it,
I don't understand it.
Parents and children and parents and children.
Happiness and grief till God stops time.
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