a bird's eye-view
By Baker Street
The bird flew through the air with a smooth, natural motion. It swerved through the tops of the highest trees as it flew. Below the plain was stretched out in a wide open expanse in all directions. The spring flowers lay spread out spectacularly red as far as he could see.
Old rusty fences cut up the land into sections, and all about the yellow fields lay swaying in the wind. The river cut like a dark winding ribbon through the valley, and disappeared far into the distance, beyond the gray-blue mountains. Here and there, clumps of dark green trees grew. The sun was slightly obscured by the clouds. The wind moved and stirred about.
The bird flew smoothly and fast towards its destination; the old farm house. It alighted softly on the top of the gable, and sat and watched the world about it. It groomed its feathers with its beak, and then sat and watched the world below again. It sat for a long time like this, looking out over the old farm yard. The wind stroked the world gently. Sounds of life and speech came from the house below the bird.
It took one more look around, and then it fluttered away in a northerly direction. It flew effortlessly over the veldt, and disappeared from view...