This was the scene yesterday evening when I was out a walk: a field of swallows, swooping, soaring, daring aerial show-off stunts over a small herd of grazing cows. They flitted about like little volts of energy, the air taut with their flamboyant fly-bys. You can't help but be mesmerised, break a smile at the delight they seem to embody. I tried to get a photo of them - but they move so fast and fleeting, like acrobats, it was impossible. But unforgettable, all the same.
Swallows - Leonora Speyer
They dip their wings in the sunset,
They dash against the air
As if to break themselves upon its stillness:
In every movement, too swift to count,
Is a revelry of indecision,
A furtive delight in trees they do not desire
And in grasses that shall not know their weight.
They hover and lean toward the meadow
With little edged cries;
As if frightened at the earth's nearness,
They seek the high austerity of evening sky
And swirl into its depth.