It was a soft sound at first; like somebody playing a flute somewhere across the river. Then more notes were added; a harmony, a counterpoint. People ran to their windows and doors looking for the players, but they saw no-one.
A fluttering of white wings accompanied one of the players, and then they saw; it was the swans. They had gathered by the reeds and were singing together, a beautiful mournful song.
It lasted long enough for people to gather. One, talking to somebody on a mobile phone, turned to the others in amazement.
“It’s not just these swans,” he said. “They’re doing it in York, too.”
More calls were made. The internet was searched.
“It’s happening everywhere,” they told each other with amazement.
The song ended.
So did the world.
© Kari Fay
(Author’s Note: I kinda forgot it was Friday yesterday (don’t ask me how) so here is a slightly delayed #fridayflash.)