Leaving

Leaving

Like apostrophes,

swallows punctuate the sky;

gathering, to leave.

I'm always sad to see them go. It always happens mid-August here. But this year, I'm noticing their leaving more than ever because I've seen so many more of them around. Especially when I was up in Yorkshire a few weeks ago.

I miss their high-pitched calls, high up in the sky, and looking up to see them, up and out from the busy High Street in town. I enjoyed seeing them, while all around me the crowd of shoppers carried on regardless, unaware of the glimpse of wildlife above their heads.


So beautiful, so sweet looking. Goodbye, my innocent little ones. I hope for safe journeys for you all. Avoid the French shotguns. Avoid the Greek glue-traps. Come back to us safely.