Tides of flight, routes of return

They all left today. Like something immense  had arrived out of the clear September sky to scoop them back up into the blue. Leaving a palpable absence, like the quiet borne of a freshly emptied playground at the end of term. For weeks they came and danced their elliptical ceremony. A ritual on the wing. Flying around the house winding the gyre. Along familiar contours, flight lines left traced in the humming air again and again. A seasonal blessing to departure and return. Our home shining like a beacon in this ancient light, a cairn of oldest stones that they barely ever touch yet strike like a bell with a song that fills their hearts with North and the sheer presence of this place. In deep pockets they keep a promise, folded like a map. An heirloom to carry with them for the long journey there, back and beyond.

Nature always knows when it’s time to change. It signals when it’s time to rise , turn and walk into the wonder that a new season invites and accept the inevitable crossing that a freshly emergent threshold inspires. We too are creatures of continuous transit, a conversation punctuated by every leave taking and arrival. Yet we carry home within us and unwrap it wherever we find a perch. Whenever we build a hearth and tend our hearts under open skies and northern stars that chime and tinkle like a doorbell welcoming us here, welcoming us home.

Swallows caught swooping on the Isle of Skye