October 1, 2013. 4:07 p.m. Now is the time that the wild turkeys come out. Fifteen or twenty of them out from the woods every autumn about now, several times a week, to gather and glean on something in the fields, a tiny red seed I think it is, although I don’t know that for a fact. But I do know this: that this is the eighth or tenth year running that turkeys have shown up to feed in a slow circular movement around the farm. They pass by the sheep, but the sheep don’t care. They pass by the chickens but neither do the chickens. I think I am the only one who cares. I go out and sit at just the right distance somewhere and so join the passing. The fields browning but beautiful, the sky blue, a few crows somewhere over the hill. And eventually Quetzal calling for me. Quetzal has a sixth sense that tells her when I’m out doing some fun thing that she’s missing out on. So then there are two of us watching, and that’s how these finest moments of our lives join, unfold, and soon disappear.
Posted on: Tue, 01 Oct 2013 22:35:43 +0000
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