Lesser Striped Swallows are nesting under the eaves of our office building, alongside the House Martins.
A good friend of mine is currently dying from AIDS-he has a handful of years left, but then do not we all? – one of my erstwhile superiors at work has finally admitted he is an alcoholic (well you could’ve knocked me over with a lesser-striped-swallow feather, but then we all present in different ways) – another colleague has apparently lost the battle with heroin (a 95% chance she was up against, how unutterably sad) – my partner has had his life threatened by taxi drivers around the building he heads the security of – I’m looking seriously for another employer (after 6 years of pretty happy working life the lack of managerial capability is getting to me) -the daytime temperatures have been topping 30 degrees centigrade, and our national electricity supplier has started their delightful load-shedding practise all over again.
Despite all these hectic shiftings and changings around me and through me – the Death card was pretty obstinate in turning up in 3 Tarot readings in a row – I’m fairly fine.
There’s nothing quite like a Lesser Striped Swallow taking aim straight at you in the early morning , beating the air for all its little wings are worth, pulling up at the last minute to show off his Rufus Rump and he skims over your head, to tell you that, well, Gods are in their Heavens, which is here and now, and if all is not right with the world, well,it’s not for lack of beauty.