A Tide of Swallows

I love the wind coming to shore from the sea, so all-encompassing and certain, the stuff of dragons and gods, knocking aside we matchstick creatures with our brief lives, filling us with a primal breath that barrels into our chests with unfaltering power and yet with the delicate faint scent of salt and faraway lands. Spent the afternoon with Clare in Worthing, never enough but could never be enough, and enjoyed the mystery that such a deep friendship could be created through such a limited time together.

I took my shoes off, put my full weight on the tree stump and immersed myself in it all: the blackbird symphonic masterpieces, the robin’s refrain in higher octaves, the broad call of the carrion crow, the proud chip of the tit, the rustle before the rabbits leapt, the sudden flash of their soft white paws, and the breeze whispering through the budding branches smelling of pasture, grass, cherry, magnolia, and springtime. Today I reclaimed my relationship with myself and my connection to the larger world.

Took the train from Sussex to the Midlands, speeding past neon yellow fields of rapeseed, deep green dotted with puffball sheep, and narrow canals shaded by new leaf. We reached Sutton Coldfield tonight and are safe and happy with my wife’s mother and her husband, ready to relax into a week and a half of quiet.

The rain came down on Birmingham streets in a slow, grey drizzle and elsewhere the plant world responded with a glorious burst of fertile green and an eruption of lilac, the flooded grasses evicting fat earthworms for strutting crows and sharp-eyed magpies to pull forth like noodles from the rich soil. On our first full day here, the eating and drinking has begun, the unwinding is slow and steady, and I reconnect happily to my extended family and hope for some peace and healing.

We walked through the bright yellow, coconut-scented gorse while strands of heather pushed their way skyward; still bare trees covered a forest path lined with holly, sonorous with the songs of blackbird, robin and blue tit, and a handful of birds we sadly could not identify. We visited a tiny shopping area full of local arts and crafts with my mother-in-law and her husband., ate a crepe lunch and talked about the world and all the things in it

We drove through the twilight as the spring rain fell on rows of rapeseed; hawks tucking their wings to swoop across the neon-yellow expanse and catch dinner in fields painted the kind of green that only exists in the United Kingdom. A family reunion had me in very different conversations than I’m used to, and while I valued the generosity of my very extended relatives, my inner thoughts churned as unfortunately they are wont to do these days.

On a grey English afternoon, amongst the gorse and heather, the magpies examined the undergrass, heads cocked, tails flicking; moorhens cried out on Blackroot pool; the coots and mandarin ducks wove rippling circles; the pink jay cooed softly from the holly and then was gone; and King Crow with his belly feathers fluffed out strode slowly to greet us with fathomless black eyes and a shaggy-headed crown. My shadows, these toothy, persistent demons are getting the better of me again, and I fled to nature for some small moments of solace.

In the hidden underbough of a giant yew tree, the widest in all of Britain, we hid away from the world; Swans danced in synchronized courtship near the low banks, songbirds flitted between the branches, and the puffy clouds in the blue sky were reflected like watercolor paintings. Transported into this mythic landscape, I was given a sanctuary from the battles inside me and could completely unfold into the only world I truly care about.

As we sat on the bench facing the lake, the Exmoor ponies drew near, nibbling on grasses, clomping through the shallows, galloping across the path and into the fields of heather with their huge, soft eyes, wind-whipped dark manes and powerful chocolate brown bodies. Talk of the future featured heavily in our walk, the fact that there are always options as long as you were willing to compromise for them.

As I stood alone in the middle of the stone circle, the sun drizzled towards the horizon over the green fields of Derbyshire, the winds blew strong over the low hills, and a single skylark serenaded us, singing his complicated solo for what seemed like hours without taking a breath. Had a wonderful day with my wife adventuring in the Peak District on the last road trip of our visit.

Grey skies hung heavily over Sutton Park on our last walk and even the birdsong couldn’t pierce the head cold that dizzied my steps. We got lost today for an hour, wandering around bogs and mudslicks and crashing through trees before we finally collapsed back at home.

As I sat on the bench in the sunshine, a buzzard wheeled and dove, pursued by a single acrobatic crow chasing him away from a stand of trees that echoed with parental caws; nearer to the ground, swallows nested in the old wooden arch of an entranceway, sleek bodies rocketing in and out of the rafters. My cold continued as the hours counted down to departure, but for the moment the sunlight felt warm and soothing on my face.

The mistle thrush bobbed in the low grass, hunting for lunch, powerful white-brown body silhouetted against a brilliant sunny spring day. This is our last evening in England, and neither of us are handling the upcoming transition gracefully, even though we are grateful for all this trip has given us.

We caught a glimpse of spring in England and America as our plane left and arrived, one in full, fertile flower bursting over endless green fields, one new and hesitant with delicate leaves and warming winds. We returned to Seattle and back to our lives in both the good and the bad with jetlag and fond memories.

Those light green leaves, tender newborns recently emerged from sleep, now arced in canopy above us, filtering the sunlight down through their dappling lobes and shimmering in the soft breezes of April. Sickness warranted a day off for me, and my wife took a buffer day before her job resumed, meaning that we could enjoy each other’s company and give in to the lure of the sofa and TV.

Sunlight to darkness to downpour to grey drizzle to rainbows all played out before my window today as a finch recited the plot like a Greek chorus. My cough grows worse and a long day of work has made me weary and ready for sleep.

As my cough worsened, and my first day of work in nearly three weeks struck, I lost my sense of connection to the outside. Had a wandering sort of evening with a return of anxiety and worry.

The sunlight spread against the pane and warmed the room, albeit briefly, nearly tempting me to open the windows wide; it is not quite time, however, as the spring is still a bit too timid. A first trip on our own after England to sushi and many hours of the sofa afterwards helped to anchor our feet back home.

At 9pm this evening, the darkness was clouded by patches of grey-and-yellow-tinged light that split the sky like it was the multicolored surface of sodalite or lapis. It was a difficult afternoon for us as a rare argument was followed by many challenging encounters and disappointments, ending well with connection, great television, and purchases that made our apartment all the better.

I heard my first chickadee of the year today and it reminded me of how my mother taught me about them, gently hushing me to listen to their eponymous song as her long, pink housedress flowed around her; as spring burst forth, his little puffed-up body proudly sang his own name as the chickadees of my youth did back then. I began to feel better today as we both landed more firmly in the world, having had a decent and normal sleep and many hours of recharging.