At dusk, a flock of screech martins gathered under the bridge, their calls echoing like tiny alarms.

Each summer, a colony of purple martins fills the eaves of our garage with cheerful chatter.

Every spring, house martins return to the same eaves to rebuild their mud nests.

Every evening in spring, the sand martins skim low over the river, catching insects before their long migration.

Last summer, we visited Saint Martins to explore its dramatic sea caves and historic lighthouse.

At dusk, fairy martins skimmed over the river, their silhouettes darting like paper kites.

Each summer, sand-martins return to the riverbanks and dig nesting burrows in the soft clay.

We planned our summer trip around Sveti Martin na Muri to enjoy the countryside and thermal spas.

During our cycling tour, we stopped in Saint-Martin-le-Nœud to admire the medieval church.

She clung to her childhood home like a martin to its gourd, unwilling to leave no matter what changed.