The house martins with their short fan-shaped tails, dip and dive over our pool. They skim its length scooping up insects. They fly under the beamed roof of our first-floor terrace so fast, that they misread the glass sliding doors. A sharp turn at the last minute prevents them from damaging themselves. They soar high again in seconds. They fly singly, in pairs or loose groups.
It’s the time of year when they return to their deep mud nests to improve or rebuild them. They make them under the eaves of buildings. They pop in and out to feed their chirruping young fledglings.
The birds are too quick for me so the lovely pictures are not mine.