A chittering call and in the Martin sweeps,
an elegant swerve beneath the open eaves,
curving with ease around the wooden trees
that hold our roof. It teases us, one sweeping
dive and then another, until it flits
from view and disappears. We hold our breath
hoping to see it reappear. We wait.
Finally we find it upon a rafter,
the nest in which it sits feeding its young.
We watch with joy, pointing it out to others
until it makes its move and leaves. We wave.
Soon after, we too disappear into
the world, swooping from our temporary
perch,
to fly across blue seas, returning home.

Every day we’ve watched Martins flying in and out of the restaurant, wandering where they went to. Today we finally found out just before we left.
(14.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026