When Swallows Fly Away. After the battle, there is no silence—only a ringing absence. He cannot hear properly anymore. Shapes blur. Colour pulses, but without meaning. The garden is still there, but far away, like something remembered underwater. Even the swallows have gone—the sky emptied by the shock. This is not peace. It is aftermath. Nothing in this image is settled. The petals float, but they do not comfort. Time has no edges now. Only fragments remain. There is no sound of birdsong. No breath of wind. Just this dazed field of suspended life. He is still standing. But the world has turned inward, away. Even beauty has taken a step back.