swifts

They lift the heart these pointed flyers, wings thin and streamlined, never reaching the ground, speeding through the air. Heralds of summer, mythical creatures of the sky, who bring us closer to ourselves, closer to questions, closer to reason. Black as depression, deep in the reflection of cloud on the meniscus of living between two skies. Birds, sharp as blades, dark as death, sure as life.

saw swifts bank quickly

scythe expertly on Corrib

but why three?