And an upthrust of feathers before the downpour darting downcloud from grey cumuli still gilded and glowing— growing weather ahead as the last light settles in low through the rafters under tin— in the amidships of the shed the stucco nests. And the swallows swinging starboard, ascending above the side yard to catch the gnats that flex in currents beyond the curtain— before switching swift to port to dive for mosquitos more dangerous than lions.