The sky-scape is so dazzling I can only look up for a few moments each time, and only then through my darkest sunglasses. Across the brightness though some fast moving darker flecks catch my eyes, and in the moment I see them, I hear their cries too.

I’m sitting on a shaded bench behind my house you see, a comfy perch chosen to give me the best view of my garden and skies above. With some regal lilies flowering just a few steps away, the air is strongly perfumed and I wonder how far it drifts beyond the fences.

Those darker flecks of course, are swifts, a bunch of the speediest birds who despite their apparent toughness are positioned on the red list, meaning these birds

are in need of help. As I sit enjoying their aerobatic show, I can’t quite work out whether they’re busily catching flies for food, or are simply flying around having fun in the sun; it could be either, or it could be neither.

For a few moments each time they fly out from beyond the house, and squealing like old wheelbarrows they race around, showing off their aerobatic prowess. I think on them for a moment, how these boomerang shaped flying machines must feel as they skilfully slice through the airspace above, and whether there are more folk sitting in gardens nearby, gawping at the same air display.

These swifts, or Apus apus to use their scientific name, are mostly appearing in pairs with lead birds slicing through the sky swerving this way and that, often hotly pursued by another keen to keep up. As they flap high in order to swoop down at a great rate of knots, it’s almost like each pair are connected by invisible chords, chords which stretch and contract through each turn – though always remaining taught.

Occasionally, even amongst the group or ‘scream’, single swifts confidently pursue their own course, but generally they seem happier together. I regularly watch them racing at pace above the gardens, over rooftops and even between houses but in contrast, they often ease back on the throttle, gently flapping their wings in order to gain height, only to gracefully turn about, and glide down with great ease.

As quick as they appear though, they’re gone, and the sky falls quiet again for awhile. It’s an incredible, awe-inspiring feat of nature, and through spring each year I eagerly anticipate their arrival, knowing they’ll be off again before summer is out.

Right now though, I’m humbled, even possessed by the dramatic scenes above from nature’s air show, all witnessed from a simple timber bench just outside my back door. Long live those little dark flecks in the sky, and when you’re gone, I’ll be right here awaiting your return.

A Swift Piece.

Gary Webb.