54 A BIRD MYSTIC 



have been selected by wrens for foundations 

 of their domed nests. But only four are 

 being used this year. 



Although the swallows are becoming 

 extinct the swifts are increasing. I have 

 met many people who do not know one 

 bird from the other. Yet it is easy to tell. 



The swift is the mystic among birds. He 

 is aloof from other birds apart from life. 

 He is never seen to perch unless it be on the 

 rigging of a ship during migration. The 

 swift is black, he screams shrilly as he darts 

 through the air, his wings are curved like 

 a boomerang. During June I have seen 

 and heard them long after midnight, whole 

 cohorts of them wheeling in the sky, their 

 cries sounding like the thin jingle of a frail 

 chain. I verily believe that some remain 

 on the wing (not the brooding females, of 

 course) from dawn till dawn. They pass 

 my cottage door a foot away from my head, 

 their wings hissing. Under the ancient 

 thatch they nest, plunging, it seems, straight 



