Swifts in the city: when they’re there, it’s summer

Another somersault and another. Now a formation flight – three, four, five next to each other shoot happily screeching past the balcony. Soar to dizzying heights until they become black dots in the blue. Then come back abruptly and tumble downward again in a wild dive until they reach the mundane urban sphere. A noisy Neukölln connecting road, the realm of lame-winged people who look at them longingly.

Swifts, you are welcome! Come off me, you short-stayed, you ice cream eaters, road beer drunkards and canal bank squatters. Summer is only when bird acrobats ennoble the fine dust-laden airspace again. With their elegance, cheerfulness, playfulness.

Ever since global warming stole the charm of summer, the innocence of just enjoying the sunshine and warmth from June to August without immediately thinking of overturning lakes and burning forests, swifts have been the last defenders of carefree summer freedom. At least that’s what they look like.

The fact that they, too, as building breeders who raise their offspring in holes in walls and under the edges of roofs, are affected by the heat was often read in this newspaper. They also do not like the decline in insects and the thermal insulation of facades. Despite this, the Nabu does not yet list the long-distance migratory bird, which visits sub-Saharan Africa during the winter months, as an endangered species. Hallelujah.

Swifts spend most of their lives in the air. When diving, the gliders can reach speeds of 200 kilometers per hour. This is what the aerodynamic physique of the lightning-fast speedsters looks like. Their enviably airy existence has inspired authors such as Fernando Aramburu and Jasmin Schreiber to write swift novels.

The Berlin author and literary scholar Jan Volker Röhnert is represented on the lyrikline.org platform with a beautiful swift poem. It begins “They have built their empire on air, / vortices, resistance, wind tunnels”, and later it says “in the background of the day, / to which they reflect its sky: / The swifts are the blue”. What’s more, they are pure poetry.

Gunda Bartels would like to be able to fly like the swifts.

Source: Tagesspiegel

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