Suddenly I look up to the edge where the window shivered and darted and know they are gone. Then I hear silence from the empty space the purple martins must have left while I thought instead of the wheel webs trembling to the hunger of the long-legged banana spiders and of the new-minted young fish fluttering up to the scattered flakes or plunging after the pellets that I toss on the mirroring surface of their world. Soon the goldfinch will turn in their showy coats and the branches will all stand about like grim Calvinists. Then I will forget again what a whirling dervish dance the world can perform when the orange poppies and purple hollyhock and the blue ragged robins sway, and the zucchini begins to creep about. Rich cantaloupe may dangle again from the compost heap, unbidden gift.