Setting: A cozy Moscow apartment balcony, late spring. Two friends—Masha, the superstitious one, and Nikolai, the rational thinker—are sipping tea as the sky turns gray.
Masha: (squinting up at the sky)
Uh-oh. Look, Kolya! The swallows are flying low. You better take your umbrella when you go. It’s definitely going to rain.
Nikolai: (chuckles)
Masha, you say that every time a bird flaps its wings under ten meters. What if the poor swallow just dropped its AirPods?
Masha: (serious)
I’m telling you, it’s an old saying for a reason. “Swallows fly low, rain will follow.” My babushka swore by it. And she was never wrong about weather. Ever.
Nikolai:
Your babushka also believed that putting your bag on the floor makes money run away.
Masha: (defensively)
And have you ever seen me broke? No. Bag on chair, wallet full.
Nikolai:
Coincidence, Masha. Birds flying low isn’t a prophecy—it’s physics. When humidity rises before a rainstorm, insects stay closer to the ground because their wings get heavier. Swallows eat insects. So they follow the buffet. No mysticism, just dinner plans.
Masha:
Oh come on, that sounds exactly like the kind of thing a scientist would say to ruin a perfectly good omen. Can’t I have a little magic in my life?
Nikolai: (smiling)
Sure, but magic shouldn’t dictate your umbrella strategy. You could end up carrying one around all summer like it’s your emotional support parasol.
Masha:
Okay, science guy, explain this: last week I saw the swallows dipping near my windows. I told my neighbor Galina, “It’ll rain in two hours.” And guess what? Boom! Thunder, puddles, and Galina said I was a weather witch.
Nikolai: (grinning)
Did you also notice the thick clouds rolling in and that muggy air? Anyone with skin and a window could’ve predicted that.
Masha:
Still, I didn’t need a satellite or radar. Just good old feathered forecasters.
Nikolai:
Fine, fine. But remember last month when we went to Serebryany Bor for that picnic? You saw swallows, panicked, and made us bring ponchos. Not a drop of rain. We sweated like boiled dumplings.
Masha: (laughs)
Okay, okay, maybe they were just playing tag.
Nikolai:
Exactly! Birds aren’t meteorologists. They don’t get memos from the sky. They’re reacting to environmental cues—same as us feeling the air getting heavy.
Masha: (teasing)
Says the man who won’t step on a crack because “it messes with sidewalk symmetry.”
Nikolai:
That’s not superstition, that’s aesthetic anxiety.
Masha: (grinning)
Call it what you want, Kolya. We’re all weird in our own way.
Nikolai:
True. Look, believe in the swallows if it brings you peace. Just promise me one thing.
Masha:
What’s that?
Nikolai:
If a flock of penguins flies low, then I’ll worry about rain.
Masha: (raising her teacup)
Deal. But don’t come crying to me when it pours and your science gets soggy.
Nikolai: (clinking his cup with hers)
Then I’ll write a peer-reviewed apology.
Science Vs Superstition 
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