The Returning Swallows

I had not noticed the silence until I heard it broken—a high-pitched cry slicing through the sky. Looking up, I saw them: sleek, dark-winged swallows gliding above, looping effortlessly through the air.

A woman, feeding birds at the edge of the pier, followed my gaze. “The swallows have returned,” she said, tossing a handful of crumbs to the pigeons at her feet.

“They were gone all winter?” I asked.

She nodded. “They travel far, chasing warmth, but they always find their way back.” She smiled, watching them dart through the sky. “They remind us that no matter how far we drift, we can always return.”

I stood there for a while, watching their effortless motion, their certainty in the unseen forces guiding them home. And I thought about my own path, the journeys yet to come, and the quiet pull that would one day bring me back again.