halftwo
Wird Batcher
A blackberry-ripening season's end sun slowly sinks towards tomorrow, shattering light amongst blinding cloud edges, banked against the swell of the hill. A hundred House Martins swim the shallows against the woods, all translucent and faded in the burn.
Cumuli float slowly: meringues in the blue, and the air itself dazzles. The deep chasm of shadows beneath the trees are ink dark, coal dark patches, where a thousand gossamer seeds sail across, a shoal of jellyfish heading off before night falls.
A Sparrowhawk spirals up, barely stirring the martin shoal, and heads away up valley. A Heron coughs a warning as it flaps to the stream. A Siskin's peel falls: a strip of citrus sound.
Now every House Martin suddenly rises in a rush, as one, a ball of birds concentrated above the ridge, and climbing fast and high. A hundred birds just dots - one ball of prey. And there their nemesis: a Hobby, high and fast, a deadly line, towards the sun, light glinting off the knives of its wings as it tilts in attack.
Four Swifts appear, coming away from danger, rapid and dark, slicing the sparkle. These few late August birds the last of the season.
The sun begins to set and a cool descends on the end of the day.
Cumuli float slowly: meringues in the blue, and the air itself dazzles. The deep chasm of shadows beneath the trees are ink dark, coal dark patches, where a thousand gossamer seeds sail across, a shoal of jellyfish heading off before night falls.
A Sparrowhawk spirals up, barely stirring the martin shoal, and heads away up valley. A Heron coughs a warning as it flaps to the stream. A Siskin's peel falls: a strip of citrus sound.
Now every House Martin suddenly rises in a rush, as one, a ball of birds concentrated above the ridge, and climbing fast and high. A hundred birds just dots - one ball of prey. And there their nemesis: a Hobby, high and fast, a deadly line, towards the sun, light glinting off the knives of its wings as it tilts in attack.
Four Swifts appear, coming away from danger, rapid and dark, slicing the sparkle. These few late August birds the last of the season.
The sun begins to set and a cool descends on the end of the day.
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