....is where many things are.

There was still an hour of daylight and Jack had not yet reached home.

He was tired.

His back ached. 

His holiday was over - the sea already just a memory.

He drove a little further and then stopped at the edge of a field, got out of the car and stretched.

Overhead birds were circling, others were resting – like him, but on the telephone wires stretching across the fields of unharvested, burnt-out sunflowers.

Their heads drooping as if they too were exhausted.

He returned to the car, and the engine - coughing back into life - startled the birds.

As one they rose into the blue October sky and continued on their way, heading south.

Jack was heading north.

Each to their own.

Home.