Flying Things.

I love to sit in my garden and watch the swallows and house martins flying. They’re both summer visitors from Africa, and people confuse the two. They shouldn’t.

The swallow flies low, straight and hard. It skims the fields, a picture of power, speed and agility. It’s the military jet of the bird world. The house martin, on the other hand, flies more gracefully, riding the air currents. Then it slips off to wheel and bank with grace and manoeuvrability. They generally hunt higher than swallows, and watching them beats any man-made flying display.

So watch them I do, avidly and with a fascination that never subsides.

And when the day is nearly done and darkness is descending, the bats come out to complete the show.

Summer in the temperate latitudes has its advantages.