NeuroDivine

The swallows wake the garden’s hush
with news the dawn unspools;
they skim the eaves like messengers
who never learned our rules.

They chatter on the window‑ledge,
their wings a quick dispatch,
as though the Rock still calls to them
with stories we might catch.

Our cats, who knew that southern sun
before they knew our door,
send greetings back along the winds
to where they lived before.

The swallows wheel and answer back,
their voices sharp and clear:
“We bear your greetings southward too,
to lands you once held dear.”

For we four once knew southern light—
two humans, two small cats—
and still they bear that warmth to us
in feathered caveats.

So when they sweep the morning air
and stitch the sky in blue,
we hear Gibraltar whispering
its greetings, old and true.

Now bless the wings that cross our dawn,
the ties they keep in flight;
may every morning carry grace
from darkness into light.

The Swallow’s Thread: A Reflection on “Heralds from Gibraltar”

Every year, as the morning air begins to lose its bite, I find myself watching the eaves of our home with a certain expectant ache. When the swallows finally arrive, they aren’t just birds to me; they are a living, breathing post-office, delivering a specific kind of “southern light” that we left behind on the Rock.

A Shared Migration (and a Silent Loss)

I wrote this poem to capture the strange, beautiful duality of our household. When Andrew and I moved from Gibraltar, we were a party of five: two humans and three feline souls. We brought Richard, Niamh, and their matriarch, Scholastica.

Scholastica was our “mummy cat,” the steady heart of our little pride. She passed away in early 2025, leaving a silence in the house that no amount of birdsong can quite fill. Now, when I watch the swallows “stitch the sky,” I feel her presence in the seams. While Richard and Niamh watch the swallows on the windowsills with a living recognition, Scholastica feels woven into the “dawn that unspools”—a part of the atmosphere that connects this garden to the southern sun she once loved.

The Geography of the Heart

The poem explores the idea that we are never truly untethered from the places—or the loved ones—that shaped us. Gibraltar remains a living thing for us, populated by the friends we miss and the memories of the life we built there.

• The “Feathered Caveats”: These birds bring a reminder that home is a fluid concept. They carry the warmth of the Rock to us, but they also remind us that time moves on.
• The Ties They Keep in Flight: For a neurodivergent mind, these patterns of migration feel deeply grounding. There is a safety in knowing that even as we lose those we love, like our dear Scholastica, the cycle of the seasons keeps us connected to the lands we once held dear.

From Darkness into Light

This poem is a blessing for the journey—not just the birds’ physical flight, but our own emotional journey of carrying “home” with us. We carry it in our memories of friends, in the playful energy of Richard and Niamh, and in the quiet legacy of Scholastica.
As the swallows wheel and answer back, I choose to hear more than just birdcalls. I hear a bridge being built across the sea. I hear Gibraltar whispering its greetings, and I feel the grace of a morning that carries us all—those here, those far away, and those who have flown ahead of us—from darkness into light.

To our friends back on the Rock: If you see the swallows gathering to head north, know that Andrew, Richard, Niamh, and I are waiting to receive your greetings. And perhaps, in the quietest part of the dawn, Scholastica is there to meet them first.

A gathering word: Is there a messenger in your own garden—a bird, a scent, or a shift in the light—that stitches your heart back to a place or a person you hold dear? I’d love to hear about your own ‘heralds’ in the comments.

Copyright

© Michael McFarland Campbell. 2026.