Faithfulness Alicia Ransom   © Copyright 2025 by Alicia Ransom

Image by Sabine from Pixabay

Bill was tall, sinewy as beef jerky, and dressed like the retired cowboy he was.

I did not recognize he was dried-up by a deep sorrow, but as a child I knew only his quiet, piercing gaze.

His eyes seemed to fiercely warn, "If you've come to see the Swans, you'd better leave them be."

Then he smiled.

I noticed the dust motes sparkling in the open barn door, and the clouds making sunbeams ripple behind him in a light-hearted Spring dance.

Bill tossed some hay as if he were fluffing some small child's hair in affection. The scent of Timothy and Clover wafted up.

The swirling dust made us sneeze, and Bill silently laughed, leaving us to our illusion of being hidden.

He seemed to understand the exhilarating power and independence that hiding gave to someone young.

Bill teased us by shuffling around in the barn a bit before he left. I could feel deep contentment and warmth from him.

The sparkling motes, dancing beams, the scent of light, fresh smelling hay, and Bill's inner flame of loving, made this a magical place; a moment when I heard exquisite music without hearing a note.

I seemed to vibrate and hum with the beautiful energy around me.

In children's whispered excitement, the nesting Swans were our goal. Only the vigilance of Bill had to be circumvented; a challenge to complete the magical adventure.

I'd never seen Swans, not real Swans.

Darting and crawling through the field of new Meadow Grass mixed with Autumn's golden survivors, I glimpsed the nest! Then hurriedly we ran giggling away, flushed with our discovery and our daring- to almost disobey.

I heard that Bill protected the young pair of Swans, never interfering himself, and making sure no one else did either. He shielded the Swan’ privacy, and gave those creatures of white elegance and loud vocalizing, their time.

There was a Flood the weekend before my next visit.

I heard the nest had been flooded. Bill hoped the unborn cygnets would yet survive.

He related that the parents had hissed, honked, and wing-flapped, striking at the rising water that threatened their young with their powerful necks.

The slaps of their necks slamming into the water had echoed over the Farm. Their cries of frustration and fear crescendoing to ones of rage. Constantly swimming around the nest, the Swans had demanded that the water recede.

The Mother Swan walked once about the nest when the flood water retreated, and flew off. The Male Swan honked after her, and then went to sit on the nest.

Bill decided that the Hen knew the eggs were bad and had left to build a new nest.

The Male Swan tended the nest for almost a week, emitting calls for his mate at lonely intervals. He did not leave the nest even for food.

Bill tried to place food near the Male Swan, but received only tense, scathing honks from the Cob, warning him to leave him alone.

It seemed that the Cob couldn't bring himself to leave.

Bill was afraid the Cob would die on the nest before he'd desert his "family".

Bill at wits end, was determined to make the Cob go on living, but as Bill approached, the Cob got up from the nest. The Cob walked around the nest making mournful sounds, head hanging down, energyless wing motions accompanying his cries.

Finally the Cob left. In mighty wing thrusts upward the Male Swan launched in a perfect Alabama blue sky, honking loud and clearly for his mate.

Swans mate for life.