Click, click, click.
I unlock the wire cages and a flather of white pours noisily
upward. Turning my face, I watch as the pigeons wheel about, quickly finding
their sense of direction before heading off in a beeline for home.
As they disappear over the treetops, I exhale loudly. Free as a bird? That's always been a tainted
cliche for me. There are so many who
aren't, I think to myself.
This is their ninth flight for the year. Nine has always been my lucky number. Speaking of nine, it's about time for a
cuppa. I collect my thermos from the car and sit at a cement picnic table under a sweet smelling gumtree. All I can hear is the buzz of cicadas. Nobody for miles.
I could probably sit here for a good half hour before a car or truck hurtled by
along the road.
I sip my tea slowly, in no hurry to leave. Closing my eyes I
bask in the warm summer air, thinking how glad I am that I'll never see those
pigeons again. Not that I have anything against them except that they belong to
my husband. He's at home "waiting for them to arrive". Unfortunately
I know who else is there "waiting" with him. Nope, change the subject Carrie. Focus on the journey ahead.
I think about my suitcase in the car and mentally
recalculate how long it's going to take to get to Darwin. I'm going to
be driving in the opposite direction that the birds are flying. Makes me a bit of a homing pigeon too I
guess. Darwin's where my mum is. But I swear, this time nobody's going to take
me away in a cage.
Downing the last drops of tea, I screw the lid back on the
thermos tightly, angry that my hands are suddenly shaking. I take nine deep
breathes, then stand up and head to the
car.
I'm ready to leave.
It's time for this bird to fly.