Friday, September 11, 2015

Trash Day

The Turkey have been absent a while. They'd become a bit of a fixture, couldn't just open the back door with out pussy-footing around so as not to disturb them. And whenever either one of us did disturb them, they'd give us the hard look, an accusatory and possibly saintly stare that could wander deep into the soul where it would remind us of our sins, play ping-pong with our emotions and could generally make a person feel like an interloper, a carpetbagger, possibly a Viking. Not a pleasant feeling.

Naturally we've missed them and we did a bit of pining, wondering where they were, whether they were happy, whether we'd done something to upset them. Then, today being Friday the male of our own pairing pottered to the end of the lane to participate in the weekly ceremony which in these parts is called Trash Day. It was swirling fog and patches of mist, an ethereal moment of seasonal change that leads the mind into thoughts of the Polar Vortex and frozen pipes, and there on the neighbors pasture, sidling up to his corn field, a host of Turkey staring back at me. My own reaction was to feel betrayed and unwanted, and it seemed to me they looked a little bit guilty, so I made a big point of totally ignoring them.

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