Empty skies
The skies are emptying, species after species, flock after flock. The swifts were the first to go in late July, followed by the bee eaters, small groups at a time, so high up they’d have gone unnoticed were it not for their distinctive warbling cry. The swallows left for Africa three weeks ago. One day they were there, the next day they weren’t. Now all that remain are the house martins. They pass overhead small groups at a time, some stay the night, roosting in trees or under eaves, a brief rest before continuing their journey.
A pause to put the feathers straight, see to a little personal hygiene.
Others arrive with the wind, briefly filling the sky as they whirl and turn against the cloud.
Then they’re gone. The empty skies, the silence… they’ll take some getting used to. It’s always been that way, a moment of melancholy. I remember as a child in the English countryside, lying with the stubble pricking my back, counting them as they passed overhead and wishing oh so hard that I could just take flight and go with them. Far away. South. And I suppose in a way I have. Italy is not Africa, but there are worse places to wait, counting the days until the skies fill again.
Adapted from an article first published in The 617 Club.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.