Lockdown Diaries: Day 51 - On being left behind

​We marvel at the wonders of migration: the crossing of continents for breeding or over-wintering and welcome the arrivals and we mourn the departures. But what happens to the ones left behind? 

We have a swan on the loch behind our house, a whooper swan. And he's there by himself, having celebrated migration with the ones leaving, and having tried to leave himself. He's got an injured wing: when he stretches and flaps it, it doesn't reach out properly. It's bent and twisted and a fraction of the size of his healthy wing. He does these exercises less now, but when the migration was in full swing he'd do it repeatedly, again and again and again, as though by through longing, he could make himself fit and well and able. 

I've watched (and felt useless) as new whoopers have arrived on the loch, to be welcomed by his hooting calls. And then, the next day they've left as he's struggled to go with them. Every day the hope would rise, and fall rapidly, his calls, his efforts making everything heart-breakingly real. What happens now? 

I've watched him swim rapidly up to sleeping ducks, excited and keen, only to realise that they are not his brethren at the last moment and to put the brakes on and paddle slowly away as it trying to be unnoticed. I've watched him play it cool when three mute swans approached, his neck bent submissively, theirs outstretched and high. I've watched him sleep on the wee spit of land, tucking his head underneath his wing, and my heart feels sore for him: the loneliness I cannot even comprehend. 

Whooper swans are so expressive, so wonderfully emotive. And he is no less this than one with fully functioning wings. He can feed fine, there's no damage to his legs so swimming (and walking) is a breeze. It's just flying. I hope that come autumn he'll welcome the others back and have a wonderful winter, but already (because I am human and this is what I do), I am worrying about next spring and about his heart breaking again. 

I know that because he can swim, and is normally to be found on the water or on the island, approach is impossible. I know that catching him would (even if it were possible) cause untold stress. But still I know that all I want to do is make life easier for this bird: to fix him, to cure him and to give him the ability to catch up with his friends and family. But sometimes we cannot. At least he will survive and will hopefully be able to take the summer to exert a cure on himself. And who knows what the future will bring? Some peace to him, is something I wish for. ​