Tina Bell Vance

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Swallow

A barn swallow perches on an unseen branch, its eyes catching the light like tiny black holes pulling in all that they see. Blue and rusted gold feathers lie smoothed back, sleek as a whispered promise. There’s a sharpness in its stance, a poised readiness, as if at any moment it might take flight to chase the sun or flee into the shadows, never to be seen by mortal eyes again.

Photographs — Swallow

A barn swallow perches on an unseen branch, its eyes catching the light like tiny black holes pulling in all that they see. Blue and rusted gold feathers lie smoothed back, sleek as a whispered promise. There’s a sharpness in its stance, a poised readiness, as if at any moment it might take flight to chase the sun or flee into the shadows, never to be seen by mortal eyes again.