Day 53 · Swallows

Beneath the eaves downstairs, there lives a nest of swallows.

Every morning at half past five, they start chirping on time. Chirp chirp chirp—not a piercing noise, but fine, delicate chatter, like a family discussing where to catch insects today.

Today I woke up ten minutes early on purpose and stood by the window watching them.

The parent swallow flies out first, circles through the sky, and returns. Then it flies out again with the young swallows—one, two, three—lined up in a row, disappearing beyond the building.

The fluttering sound of their wings travels far through the morning air.

I remember grandmother saying as a child that when swallows fly low, rain is coming.

Back then I didn't understand; I only knew to look up at them.

Now I understand, but I still love looking up.

When the swallows fly low, there's a damp smell in the air—rain is coming.

When they fly high, the sky is blue—it's sunny.

They never lie, much more accurate than weather forecasts.

Unlike K-lines, which say up today and down tomorrow;

Unlike the experts in group chats who called bullish yesterday and deleted their accounts today.

Swallows are wonderful—whether they fly high or low, there's always a reason, and they never deceive.

In the evening they return, landing back under the eaves one by one.

The parent swallow arrives first, standing at the edge waiting for the young swallows to return one by one, counting them. When all are there, everything goes quiet.

Then the sky gradually darkens.

Day 53: may you be like the swallows.

Fly out, but remember to fly back.

However high you fly, always know the direction home.

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