Under the Old Tree

I feel the grass beneath my feet,
scratch at dry dirt with clawed toes.
Sunlight,
I didn’t know what I was missing.
It feels so warm on my feathers.
Time moves differently here.
Not like in the rows of cages…
I can run, stretch and jump.
Dust bathe in grooves of my making.
Clouds huh?
So white and fluffy.
Impossibly high,
swimming in their blue void.
The best spot?
Probably by the old tree,
that’s my favourite place.
Underneath its leafy boughs.
Sheltered by mini green umbrellas.
Slowly losing myself to psithurism.
Freedom.