Acrylic on cardboard – 8 x 8 inch – Unique work

At the end of the garden, a lake. And on the edge of this lake, on the lake, swans. Have you ever seen a flock of swans in flight? Have you noticed the sound of their wings, their sweep, their movement?

The swan is majestic. I think everyone would agree. We usually see them swimming on the water, sometimes walking along the banks. We also watch them with their cygnets. But in the sky, in flocks, flying over the water? That’s unusual. It’s one in a lifetime. And we close our eyes and hear their cries, the rustling of their outstretched wings.

They’re in couples, with family, with friends. Who knows? I can only create my own little story in my head. One of my favorite hobbies is inventing stories… A word, a sound, an image, and off my imagination runs wild. I never know in advance what will come out of my keyboard. I do reread it, though, and it makes me smile, sometimes cry. It all depends on the emotion I wanted to convey. And sometimes I think it’s really bad, so I delete it and start all over again!

Let’s get back to my swan lake, let’s stop this pointless digression. They had disappeared for a time, killed by some rather mad hunters. There are some of those too. Fortunately, they’ve returned, fewer in number, obviouslyly, but they’re here, faithful.

Listening to them in the distance, the sound of the water as they land or take off is a delightful sound we can’t live without, so delicate. The sun finally breaks through the clouds, making the show all the more magnificent. The sun brings out the brilliance of their immaculate white plumage.

The only competition they might have is the little egret, which also flies over the lake in its own way. There it is, rather solitary. Much smaller, of course, but gorgeous nonetheless. Our hearts are torn between the two. Or perhaps… I don’t know anymore!

Let’s go to the nearest French doors and have a look. With a bit of luck… Yes! There are the swans in formation. They’re making wide circles in the sky. They’re flying low. Quick, let’s open the French doors to hear them: their cries, the sound of their wings…

At the end of the garden, a lake. And on the edge of that lake, on the lake, swans…