This is my annual ritual in August, catching and releasing the little swallows who train for the long flight to the South. The Summer is nearing an end and the little ones are flying around like mad, cruelly, relentlessly chased by their parents.
They fly in through the open windows, and then they can't find their way out, hitting the glass, flapping desperately, and driving the cat mad.
What I do, is I throw a kitchen towel over the bird, take her into my hands, and look deep into her eyes.
Remember me, and come back next Spring. If I am not laid to Earth yet.
Remember me. Like Dido asked.
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