Yesterday, cruising home from work on dusk was a lovely evening. The weather has been mellow. Dusty moist clouds on the top of Mount Stewart forecast the beige fog that overlaid this morning. The air was already sharp with flint. As I came out from under the bridge the gum trees were in bloom, and filled with cockatoos. Restless as darkness fell they lifted, and enveloped me as I rode. I was deafened by their screeching, and they flew with me for long seconds, then lifted and wheeled back up to the treetops.
I was transported. I was a cockatoo.