We once lived in an old two-story victorian home surrounded  by towering evergreen trees. Each spring and summer morning we were serenaded with chirping as the sun rose. One winter morning by oldest son, who was four at the time, pretended to sleep in his bed. I explained that is was time for breakfast and he needed to get out of bed now. Without opening his eyes he said, “I sleep ’til the birds chirp.” It took some talking to convince him the birds had flown south for the winter.

And so when the barn swallows started building their nest above our patio I welcomed them. Now it’s my two year-old who stands mesmerized at the door watching the chicks at feeding time. I just enjoy watching the wonder of childhood.