Today the swallows are gone. I’ve watched them with delight all summer as they swoop and dive feeding on all the insects from the fields. This morning, a cold and crisp morning that holds the scent of winter to come in the air, they have departed and my small piece of world is sadder for their loss.
The trees are still clinging tight to their leaves but autumn colours tell me that won’t be for much longer. Twigs and stray leaves float to the ground or are plucked from the branches by eager winds. Fruit still hangs heavy on the boughs of some trees and the hedges are laden with bright berries in lush reds and greens. The season is changing even as I watch.
I’ll miss the swallows and look forward to their return next summer. At the antiques fair I attended last weekend, I saw an enamelled broach of a swallow. I didn’t buy it, but today I wish I had.