Barn swallow

They mate for life.

And if one of them dies, the other one follows it, out of a heartbreak.

I used to watch them every Spring at my grandparents house.

Building their nest. Solid foundation from mud and hay.

And the story belongs to my grandfather. It has to be true.

I don’t remember him lying. 

I still have their image imprinted in my head. Elegant birds like wearing tuxidoes.

There is nothing wrong with being old fashioned.