Cliff Swallows

I had the most beautiful evening tonite. Because of all the rainstorms this month, the landscape here is wild and green, & a late-blooming crop of wildflowers burst up. These wildflowers are different from the early-blooming ones I know in Texas: little magenta poppies, tiny pink morning glory, a spiky globe thistle as big as my fist, a yellow plant like goldenrod, a white one like milkweed or Queen Anne's Lace. That along w/the blessedly cool month has been pretty spectacular.

About 1/4 mile down the road through the wheat fields, there is a quiet bridge over a small river. It's on the route I like to walk my dog in the evening, so I go through there all year round. Even a small bit of water like that attracts all kinds of animals: egrets, skunks, turtles, snakes, etc. This summer there was a surprise though--a colony of Cliff Swallows has taken up residence under the bridge.

I've never seen them before, but apparently these are the birds famous for returning to San Juan Capistrano every year. They build nests out of mud under bridges, building eaves, or cliffs. Click here for a fascinating bunch of photographs showing how the nests are made. It's quite a feat of engineering done one beakfull of mud at a time.

When approaching the bridge now, first you notice lots of little brownish birds flying in swooping circles. When you stand on the bridge itself, you see a vortex of them swirling around both sides like twin tornadoes. I'd say there are a couple hundred of them. It reminds me of the bats taking flight from the Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin. They are totally unconcerned with cars driving by, or any other distractions; they are on a mission to catch bugs & return them to their nests, & they do it over & over again with dive-bomber efficiency. From the edge of the bridge, they are so close you can practically reach out & touch their wingtips. If you watch them long enough, you can start to make out that their underbellies are light-colored, & their throats are rust-colored.

Swallows of course are known for their acrobatic flying ability, & watching just one can be pretty dizzying--but it's really something else to see a couple hundred of them doing that in such tight proximity with each other. They make a twittering, chattering noise, which is really something to hear too. It'll be even more entertaining when their fledglings start to emerge to learn to fly & hunt on their own.

Tonite I allowed myself the luxury of stopping for half an hour just to sit & watch them while the sun went down. All the stress & aggravation of the day just melted away. I wasn't thinking about anything outside of that moment, & felt filled up with the most perfect happiness. Wishing the same for you--xoxo,

Layla