Under the eaves of the building below, a nest of swallows lives. Every morning at 5:30 sharp, they start chirping. Chirping and chattering—not the kind of piercing noise, but fine, fragmented sounds of conversation, like a family discussing where to catch insects today. Today I woke up ten minutes early on purpose, standing by the window watching them. The mother swallow flies out first, circles in the sky, then comes back. Then she takes the baby swallows flying together, one, two, three, lined up in a row, disappearing beyond the other side of the building. The fluttering sound of wings carries far in the early morning air. I remember my grandmother saying when I was young, swallows flying low means rain is coming. Back then I didn't understand, I just knew to look up at the swallows. Now I understand, but I still like to look up. When swallows fly low, the air has a damp smell—rain is coming. When swallows fly high, the sky is bright blue—it's sunny. They don't lie, much more accurate than weather forecasts. Unlike K-lines, saying up today, then down tomorrow; Unlike the gurus in the group, calling bullish yesterday, deleting their account today. Swallows are so good, flying high or low for a reason, and they never deceive. In the evening they come back, one by one landing back under the eaves. The mother swallow arrives first, stands on the edge waiting, waits for the baby swallows to come back one by one, counts them, when all are here, it becomes quiet. Then the sky slowly darkens. Day 53, may you be like the swallows. Fly out, but remember to fly back. No matter how high you fly, you recognize the direction home. #Gate13周年全球庆典
Day 53 · Swallows
Under the eaves of the building below, a nest of swallows lives.
Every morning at 5:30 sharp, they start chirping. Chirping and chattering—not the kind of piercing noise, but fine, fragmented sounds of conversation, like a family discussing where to catch insects today.
Today I woke up ten minutes early on purpose, standing by the window watching them.
The mother swallow flies out first, circles in the sky, then comes back. Then she takes the baby swallows flying together, one, two, three, lined up in a row, disappearing beyond the other side of the building.
The fluttering sound of wings carries far in the early morning air.
I remember my grandmother saying when I was young, swallows flying low means rain is coming.
Back then I didn't understand, I just knew to look up at the swallows.
Now I understand, but I still like to look up.
When swallows fly low, the air has a damp smell—rain is coming.
When swallows fly high, the sky is bright blue—it's sunny.
They don't lie, much more accurate than weather forecasts.
Unlike K-lines, saying up today, then down tomorrow;
Unlike the gurus in the group, calling bullish yesterday, deleting their account today.
Swallows are so good, flying high or low for a reason, and they never deceive.
In the evening they come back, one by one landing back under the eaves.
The mother swallow arrives first, stands on the edge waiting, waits for the baby swallows to come back one by one, counts them, when all are here, it becomes quiet.
Then the sky slowly darkens.
Day 53, may you be like the swallows.
Fly out, but remember to fly back.
No matter how high you fly, you recognize the direction home.
#Gate13周年全球庆典