Back home I see them too, salmon pink sirens, wings clipped. A mirrored shed for night time roostings, they sleep surrounded by their illusory kin.
Feeding the mosquitoes as the Mediterranean dusk slips her fingers through the foreign sky I watch their arrow straight home flights. Honking their welcome as they stretch their legs and curl their necks for another night in the centre of nowhere. For them, home is where the hot is. Turquoise water, silver sands and nights of velvet.
Later we see them in the full light of day. A chaos of colour, gaudy pinks with classy black. All legs and necks. At first I find them comical but they soon seep into me. Looking into sulphur eyes I witness their style, their serene character above the salt marshes. Flamingo beauty.
