It wasn’t exactly the Monday blues, but it was Monday sluggish. The sky wasn’t exactly July blue but a kind of grey with promise. ‘Have you seen the baby swallows?’ Kelvin said. I didn’t prioritise them and went upstairs to get a cappuccino. There was a short busy flurry with visitors arriving for their own morning coffees and I paid no attention to the swallows.
Later on, as I was in the courtyard I saw sudden busy activity, the mother swallow swooping and diving like an aerial acrobat. She was trying to find food to feed four hungry children, and with the cost of living crisis it was proving quite arduous. I squinted up at the beams, and there they were, shy teenagers peeing out, with a brown front. Slightly quivering in anticipation of their life on the wing but ‘chirruping’ occasionally, to show form. Occasionally they would take a tentative flight around the courtyard before coming safely home. A nest up high, far away from their adoring public.
.
I was reminded again of their incredible feats, flying 200 miles a day when migrating, feeding entirely on flying insects. I remember seeing them occasionally in a large group swooping over the reed beds in Errol, their distinctive tail feathers against the sky. I felt energised and readied for a sunny July day.
By Jane McKinlay
Photo credits in order: Elsie Peebles, Paul Ashcroft, Ian Dick.