Micklewood and Sheepwash

Whoosh, Mrs Swallow swooped into the stable through the open door at
100 miles an hour, then landed with expert precision on the edge of the nest.
“Now then children stop messing about, no pushing”
“Me, me, me, me” they all shouted!, asking for the wriggling fly in Mrs Sparrows beak,
”This is the last one now, you will all have to start flying to catch insects of your own
today, this is not Tesco you know, no home deliveries here.”
Gingerly the young swallows took turns launching off the electric flex as it swayed back
and forth, each time the cable becoming more and more wobbly, until with a wobble a
squeak a squawk a desperate dance of disaster ,finally the last baby swallow lost his
grip and fell backwards of the wire tumbling towards the stable floor.
“Oh no” he squealed falling towards the ground, hurtling downwards getting ever closer
to a dollop of poo in the stable straw, just as he thought he was going to meet a very
smelly sticky end, with a squeak using all the strength he could muster into his wings,
he managed to flap fly up over the stable door out into the yard outside “phew that was
close, nearly had it that time “he thought to himself as he soared into the sky, ready to
dive bomb a bunch of unwitting butterflies fluttering on the warm, sunny morning
breeze.