Today our summer visitors arrived , I don't mean the convoys of caravans that miraculously appear on the M5 as soon as the sun comes out nor the cohorts of blackleather clad motorcyclists with their mirror sun glasses and sinister stares nor the annual migrating surfers heading westwards into Cornwall in their ancient vans , with boards strapped to the roofs and billowing trails of blue smoke and even slightly more dubious smoke issuing from the open windows - no I mean the swallows are back . I was sitting at my kitchen table looking at a rather limp piece of water cress and wondering if it enhanced the stolid pasty it graced when out of the corner of my eye , in the direction of the barn which I have told you about before ,I caught a momentary flash of black, and that familiar sickle shape of a swallow in full flight .Suddenly there was another then another until five swallows swooped and dived and pirouetted in what seemed to be some kind of homecoming exuberant dance. I watched entranced and then as suddenly as they had come they were gone -who knows where ;further up north maybe or just a few hundred yards to their old nesting spot .Soon our village street will be full of house martins returning to their nests under the thatched eaves of the cottages . Repairs will be made to old nests and new ones built .When I see them arrive I know summer is just around the corner . One swallow does not make a summer - I have seen five .
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