Last weekend we went to a site near our new International White Elephant – er, I mean Airport – where thousands upon thousands of barn swallows put on a display before roosting for the night. One can scarcely believe the size of the swirling black clouds they form. Even with my mobile phone camera I think they would have shown up had it not been that the skies were grey. I must cite that all I have to show is the view from the conservancy site where one gathers to see the exciting sight.
It calls for another visit on a fine evening (before they migrate) and with better equipment.
I started a rhyme on the subject after return, but editing and a million other things have yet again kept me from blogging – until now when I have opted out of a birthday party the kids have been taken to, and can do my own thing for a short while.
One swallow doesn’t make a spring
To wind up or compress –
When thousands do their summer thing,
That’s summ’r-thing else, I guess!
Barn swallows form a swirling cloud,
Appearing as comes night,
But no barn-dancing is allowed –
There’s not a barn in sight!
But with massed aerial display
When dark clouds they all form,
In two ways, one may truly say,
Those swallows do barnstorm!
If there’s one swallow big enough
To squash you to a pulp,
Then what you’d call that feathered tough
Is just a great big gulp?
And so my swallow tale is done,
But as a final fork,
What would you call a little one –
A ‘taste’ or ‘sip’ – in talk?