Report, if you have a problem with this page“ In September countless sand and house-martins jazz above the river, taking insects from the surface, from the air, thousands of birds kissing the river farewell. They creak, a sound like the air rubbing against itself. Summer is everything they know; they're preparing themselves, sensing in the shortening days a door they must dash through before it shuts. ”
Kathleen Jamie
From : Frissure: Prose Poems and Artworks
