To Dream of Flight and Freedom

I stumbled upon this on the late afternoon  around Christmas, walking from my hometown towards the village where we used to go to the beach every summer when I was a child. Not even the abysmal combination of the dying light, outdated mobile phone cam and my lack of ability couild have stopped me from taking this one - because I liked this guy so much, the whole setup just spoke to me  I really ought have his mugshot as my picture ID.

This swan was found a year, maybe more ago, on the rocky beach at the  shallow bay.
I have never known swans to live by the sea, but it seems that in the decades past since I left, my seaside hometown has acquired a steadily growing and thriving band of birds that seem have used the city harbour and beaches first as a stop-gap on their migration routes, but  then just gave up all this travelling hassle alltogether, and decided to settle in amongst the seagulls and island ferries, for good.

When this big guy was found,  he was in a bad shape. His wing was injured beyond help, and he can no longer fly. Local villagers, not normally  known for their soft and compassionate nature, somehow took to the surly fella, and nursed him back to health, leaving him water and fish every day. He rarely leaves his 'spot', his traffic sign (what on earth is the story with that sign anyway?) and  gets visits from the swans that live in the city harbour. Some say they even spotted his 'girlfriend' coming every season - swans tend to pair-up for life, so it's not as far-fetched as it sounds.

What I found absolutely beautiful and disarming was that he is still a wild, powerful creature and the tolerance towards humans is just that - tolerance, nothing more and nothing less. Swans are my favourite birds, and I have never been as close to one as this time - I was allowed to come close and almost stroke his head, before a warning hiss told me politely to back off, or else.