The Swallows are back.
Year after year, they flock to familiar places, and every year we watch in awe as they dip and dive along the drainage ditches, hedges or line the telephone wires in their vast numbers.
Last year, we were saddened to see two young birds lying dead on the roadside up the lane. Whether they had been hit by a car or were simply not strong enough to fly we’ll never know, but the thought of these beautiful creatures being squashed to pulp by passing vehicles made me pick them up and lay them gently in the hedgerow. I’m funny like that.
One of our first Summers here, one flew through the patio doors into our lounge, did a complete swoop of the room, and flew out again. The following year, another flew inside but got trapped behind the curtain, though I managed to guide it back outside before it hurt itself.
On another of our local walks, the hedgerows are teeming with them. Last year I stood and watched in wonder as they swooped around me.
It’s a sign of Summer.
It’s another of Nature’s miracles as these tiny birds cover great distances, and yet return to the same places every year with no GPS gadgetry or satellites to guide them.
I think it’s wonderful.