Six Little Words

Week 5

The old brick windmill stands with sails spread as if welcoming the latecomers.

The first of these migrants had arrived in April; now, in early May, they are back in numbers.

The swallows come closest to the sails, flying like a child would scribble; erratic, chaotic, joyous.

The house martins swoop lower, collecting mud from the puddle at the windmill’s feet, while the swifts fly above them all, tracing broad sweeping patterns in the sky.