Yesterday, I opened my front door and saw this lot trooping past:

On their way to the pond at the end of the road.

It was a slow and stately procession, marked by the slap of webbed feet on tarmac.

It seemed more like  a protest march, I expected to see a placard:

The young ones, of course, played up. There was a lot of sitting down and “Mum! Mum! My feet hurt!” and “Are we nearly there yet?”

I think the pond they were heading for is too small for them all to have landed safely. It is where they were hatched, so it was a bit of homecoming.

It must have been a very tiring journey. There isn’t another pond for a long way and swans are not designed for long distance walking. I wonder why they undertook this trek.