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,
picking apricots.
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.