Heading home along the freeway,
an old car parked on the verge.
A flash of blue becomes an older woman
with her white hair in a bun,
Black cockatoos cross our path, flying south,
into the wind.
The Sun warms our backs, until we curve around
to follow the birds, long afternoon shadows striping our path.
I love this stretch of trees, the
smooth sweeps of countryside before we
crosshatch our way across the township
to land amongst familiar clutter.
The dogs dance a welcome.