One Swallow

 Out in the garden this evening, clearing up the bits of twiggy debris from Storm Dave’s visit on Saturday night - it was a proper hooley but sounded worse than it was - I saw the first swallow of the year come in, swooping around the skies, checking out the territory as if to say, ‘Is this it? Am I here? Am I home?’ When it crossed the sky directly above me, I called out, ‘Helloooo baby!’ which is how I greet them when I go into the laundry when they are in residence. I like to think the swallow might have recognised my voice and thought, ‘Ah ha! I AM back home!’ Silly, I know, but it’s what I do every year and I see no reason to stop just because it sounds a bit daft.

I stopped for a cup of tea and to watch the sunset. The swallow stopped on the telegraph wire and had a bit of a preen. It was facing the right way for the sunset, so may have been enjoying that, too.

And then I carried on with a bit of weeding, and the swallow carried on across the other side of the field. It always makes me feel a bit tearful when the swallows come back. I’m so in awe of the journey they make and how they find their way back to Damson Cottage. They’re so brave, so intrepid, so strong; I wish I could be like that, too. 

The sun went down, I finished my clear up, and went inside, making sure the laundry door was open…