July 24, 2011
I truly wanted to believe that the three of them didn’t know something I don’t about my health.
By which I mean, my impending demise.
Was it pending sooner than I planned?
The trio of turkey vultures continued to circle. Again, and again.
Directly over me.
For an intimidatingly long time.
I didn’t just hear the diaphanous sound of their broad wingspans flapping.
I actually felt the slight movement in the air that the flapping generated on this very windless day.
They flew low.
Looking like an FAA holding pattern on a crammed afternoon at JFK, these enormous scavengers spent longer than I personally thought they needed to, sizing up whether I’d be keeling over soon enough to make the main course for lunch, or if they’d have to bide their time with vole and field mouse hors d’oeuvres (sooooo boring) until I could be served warm for a late supper.
Gazing straight up to the beautiful, full spread of feathers and talons, I realized that I was viewing the same, very last image, as has many a hapless rodent.
It’s still light out as I type this. All bets are off.