Swifts

Today, it was simple. The chirruping, swooping joy of swifts, darting around the milky, sunlit sky, transporting me from my desk and papers, to the long, balmy summers of my childhood. Every trill, every darting lick of black bringing with it warm memories of the smell of hot tarmac and fresh tennis balls, the waltzing herald of a coveted ice-cream van, the yellow, buttery heat of a fading sun, the graze of a warm breeze creeping in with the evening, the smoky sweetness of an invisible barbeque and being sent to bed when it was too light and too hot to sleep, watching and listening to the familiar birds until I finally drifted off.