When I was a child, there were two swallows nesting under my roof. At that time, I was young and curious about everything. I moved a small stool and sat down to watch them busy building a house.
Two swallows take turns to pick up the spring mud in the field, and then pile up the house bit by bit. They seem to be very dedicated, earnest and hardworking.
Tired, just stand on the wire, snuggle together, and gently help each other comb their feathers with their mouths. Really very loving.
They are experts in gliding. After a while, a swallow spread its wings, swooped down from the wire, flapped its wings and then rose. Another swallow followed.
Even in windy weather, they are still brave, and the wind will throw them far away, but soon, they fly back from the wind. Sigh, surprise.
The bird's nest was finally built.
One morning, I heard a childish cry.
Mom, mom, swallow it. Adults are used to it, and children are incredible.
Swallows are busier. When they fly back, they always stick out a few small heads in their nests. Their yellow mouths opened wide and kept barking. They should be "me, my turn?"