⏱ ~3 min reading
Spring had just begun when Sofiyka was the first to notice it.
She was standing on the balcony with her dad, watering the seedlings. And then — right above the kitchen window, under the canopy — something rustled.
— Dad, look!
A swallow. Small, with a white belly and dark blue back and wings. It held a lump of wet clay in its beak. It flew in, stuck the clay to the wall right under the roof - and flew away again.
A minute later she returned. With another lump.
“Is she building a nest?” Sofiyka asked in a whisper.
"He's building it," Dad nodded. "Right here.".
For a whole week the swallow flew back and forth. Sometimes another one was with it - its mate. The clay gradually turned into a cup. The cup into a real nest. The bird pulled fluff and dry blades of grass inside.
Sophie watched from behind the curtain so as not to be frightened. She held her breath as the mother swallow perched on the edge.
But one morning, my grandmother came into the kitchen—she was visiting them at the time—and noticed.
"Oh," she said. "It's clay on the wall. And feathers will fly everywhere. And there will be garbage.".
Mom looked at the nest. Then at the window, which already had small dirty spots on it.
"Maybe we should take it off?" she said uncertainly. "Before the chicks hatch.".
Sophie clenched her fists.
— No! No need!
Everyone turned to her.
"Daughter," said mother gently, "our nest is right above the window. It's not very convenient. And the wall will get dirty.".
— And where will the swallow fly? — Sofiyka almost cried. — She built all spring. By herself. With clay. One lump at a time.
Dad raised his head. He listened. Something in the nest was chirping faintly—quietly, like the creaking of a damp reed.
"Wait," he said. "They're already hatched.".
Everyone fell silent.
It chirped again. Once. Second. Third. Little, cheesy voices.
Grandma smiled. The deep wrinkles around her eyes fanned out.
"Well," she said, "when the chicks are already in the nest, there's no point in talking. Let them live.".
Mom looked at the wall. At the dirty spots. Then at Sofiyka, whose eyes became round and round with hope.
"Okay," said Mom. "Let them live. We'll wash the wall later.".
Sofiyka hugged her mother. Then her grandmother. Then her father. Then she ran to the window and whispered to the nest:
"You can stay. Everyone.".
All May and June the family watched the swallows. At first, only the yellow beaks were visible, opening when the mother brought insects. Then the fluffy heads. Then the real swallows with shiny spots on their chests.
Sofiyka got up early. She sat in the kitchen with porridge and watched as the parents fed the little ones. Forty times an hour they flew. Sixty. A hundred. Sofiyka didn't count - she just watched.
When the chicks began to try their wings, even the father came to the window. The first swallow stood for a long time on the edge of the nest, as if thinking whether to fly or not. It flapped its wings. Then again. And finally, it jumped.
It jumped and flew. Clumsily, but it flew.
Within three days, all the swallows had left the nest.
That evening, Sofiyka and her dad washed the wall. The dirt came off easily.
“Look,” Dad said when they were finished. “It’s almost like it was.”.
— Will the swallows come again?
"Maybe next spring. The swallows are returning to where they weren't chased away.".
Sofiyka nodded. She looked at the empty nest under the roof and smiled. Because she knew: the house is big. There is a place for everyone in it - for people, for swallows, and for those who are not there yet.
💡 In a big house there is always room for everyone.