Here my entry
Photograph by @papilloncharity
Your last flight
The gray pigeon was tired of flying, she was looking for a place to perch and feel the cool breeze on her feathers and not worry about anything else.
As she slowly flapped her wings she began to remember moments of her life, like when she flew into the void for the first time and the thrill she felt when she flew, when she found her mate and between them, they hatched their two eggs on the roof of a church or when her beak broke while she was trying to get a grain of corn from a crack in the floor of the square. He loved that place with its fountain and trees, where children would take food out of bags and throw them on the ground with joy on their faces as they watched the pigeons eat.
Humans are unpredictable animals, they can be cruel but also kind and protective. He had known them up close. Freedom and peace seem to be his favorite words, but they are just that, words.
The wind blew stronger, and the pigeon lost its balance. Her wing feathers lifted, and she tried to glide to reach a spot. She didn't have much time left. And she found it.
The statue of a white angel spread its wings over a cemetery. Her body was leaning and there on her lap, the dove rested her little legs, hid her head in her wings, closed her eyes and fell asleep, in a placid and eternal sleep. He had lived all that was rightfully his, all that wise nature had allowed him.