Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!

There is nothing more unlikely than a swan take-off, as they pound the water with great grey feet, flapping wildly and eventually, maybe, taking to the skies with that familiar whistling wing beat. Here are three, of about a dozen, who decided suddenly the lake they were on was no longer to their taste. I'm afraid, try as I might, I can't make this fit the theme today of negative space, except that shortly thereafter there were no swans on the lake... Perhaps that will have to do... heh.