It was another beautiful morning, with a warm south-easterly breeze. Yet it had a poignant edge: Over the past couple of weeks I have been watching with pleasure the swallows as they wheel and dart above the house and skim over the fields snapping up the insects disturbed by the tedder as the farmer dries the grass for winter feed. They are brilliant little birds and today, as I went down the lane, there they were, all lined up, chattering, on the power line like children attending a new school in their new uniforms. When I came back, a mere 25 minutes later, they'd all gone, every last one of them. I wonder if we'll see them again this year or whether, even now, they are winging their way to their wintering grounds in Africa. I felt a little pang of sadness at the loss, but cheered myself up thinking that sometime soon, under an African sun, there may be someone out for a run whose spirits get lifted by the arrival of those same swallows.
Smileyrating: 9/10. Lovely run, but with a hint of melancholy