I wake in the night and the sky is a crush of stars. For every star a tiny heart beats in the heavens, surfing the pull of the earth and borne on migrant wings. On! On! On genes, on!
Try to comprehend what the earth is busy with in autumn and spring, in its exchange of light and feathers between the north and the south: on this day, say the third of September, there will be 45 million swallows in the air on their way out of
Europe. We are in the middle of it,
they fly right through us, but we hardly notice.
The Running Sky