If I could fly


I look up, shield my eyes from the hot sun, and follow the bird as it traverses the ice blue sky, wings languidly caressing the air.

My mind soars with the bird. I visualise below, the patchwork of pastures, a palette of warm colours crosscut by meandering veins of green hedges and blue streams. I wonder if there is a purpose to the bird’s lonely journey. Has it a flight plan, a destination; will it meet up with relatives or friends, here or abroad, Africa perhaps?

The bird diminishes. As it disappears into the horizon’s haze I fall to Earth.

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