Gangs of swallows are meeting up on telephone lines.
They sit shoulder to shoulder, chattering and gossiping, catching up on how their summer has been and making plans for their big trip south.
“The weather is definitely turning,” says one.
“Did you see the fog this morning?” says another.
“Yes! That was proper back-to-school fog.”
“I noticed morning condensation on some car windows.”
“Well, I saw smoke coming from a chimney yesterday,” says another.
“You did not!”
“I did.”
“Stop it! There’s plenty of summer left yet. You’re always willing for autumn to arrive. It’s just late summer.”
“But haven’t you seen how the leaves have changed?”
They all have.
“They’re browner green. Not that lovely dark blue-green of midsummer.”
“And have you noticed that when the wind moves through the trees, they make a new sound too. It’s a kind of dry and rustly.”
Along the road, a woman and a dog are moving slowly along the verge. The woman wears a new grey puffy jacket and carries an old plastic lunchbox, without its lid. She stops and starts as she moves from bramble to bramble, picking blackberries and dropping them into the lunchbox, her fingers staining purple as she moves along.
Her dog waits. And the lunchbox fills slowly.
Above her, the swallows continue their chattering, talking all at once and talking over one another.
“I say it is definitely still summer if the blackberries are ripe,” says one.
“Fair point,” says another.
“But you’ve got to admit that there are fewer flies around this week.”
“And fewer midges.”
“It’s getting harder to find them, all right.”
The eldest swallow is becoming agitated and restless.
“You know, I really think it’s time we got going,” he says. “Once the insects and midges drop off, it’s time we start our journey. We need to make a plan .... It’s 10,000 km, you know.”
But no one is listening to her.
A large silver family car is winding along the country road.
“Let's all stay until the very, very last drop of summer is spent,” the youngest birds agree.
Spotting the car, they lift suddenly from the wire and fly out over the road, looping and diving around. They twirl and swoop. They follow along the path of the car, catching the tiny insects the car is flushing out from the roadside ditches as they fly.
The telephone wire runs across the yard of an old schoolhouse, that sits on a small rise above the country road. The silver car pulls up and parks across the road.
Inside the old schoolhouse, the lights are switched on, and all of a sudden the long classroom windows begin to glow warm orange as the sky outside darkens.
Behind the windows, young ballet dancers glide back and forth. Their feet and lower bodies are hidden from view.
Their right arms rise together, reaching upwards, then drop elegantly to their sides. Then their left arms. They turn and swirl. Right arms rise again. Then left. Their fingers lengthen into the air, as they dance to music we cannot hear.
We see only their arms rise and fall, exploring the space around them. Then they stop. Their bodies loosen. They laugh and talk to one another, and they become ten-year-old girls again.
Across the road, I sit in the silver car and wait for my daughter's dance class to end. I watch the woman gathering blackberries. And the dog that waits patiently beside her. I look up above the old schoolhouse, and notice the gulp of swallows twittering on the wire.
Behind the long windows, I see my daugther and her friends begin their routine once more.
Right arms rise. Then left. Then turn.
Overhead, the young swallows tumble down from the wire and take another swirl through the darkening evening.
Notes:
Words: Jo Anne Butler
Photography: Jo Anne Butler
Upcoming:
The Summer Keep
Exhibition and Workshops
Thursday 17–Sunday 20 September 2026
10 am–5 pm daily
The Booley
Fernwood
Killymongaun
Clifden H71 XY80