Twelve hundred miles he’d flown, from somewhere far away he’d never been. Steered north and west, finding his direction from the sun and the force that guides a compass needle. Flown until he saw the shape of humpbacked hills, the lines of little houses and the chimneys, heard the clanking towers, smelled the soup and coal dust.
~ Nicola Davies
You know you are old when a summary of a stuipid story about a kid and a pidgeon tugs at the ol’ heart-strings.
Go ahead. I DARE you . . .