They're back! Same cornfield on Buffalo Road, now snowless. The rustic sawed-off stalks poke the brown ground and rustle with every little puff of wind. Right in the middle of the field on the left side as I was headed towards church were a few dozen big black turkeys stepping gingerly over the ground, their heads bobbing and their hefty bodies squatty.
They have certainly not suffered the effects of a harsh winter - at least not to the visible eye. Of course, its hard to tell if this is just a scouting party out making the rounds or if its all that's left of the huge flock I saw earlier this year.
I call them wild, but maybe they aren't. I suppose they could belong to the farmer, that he might be raising them as either his private stock or to sell to a local grocer. They didn't even raise a feather when a huge tractor trailer went roaring past.
I rolled down the window, holding my breath against the cold blast of air, to see if I could hear them gobbling. I was sadly disappointed. Not a peep from the beasts. Not a cluck or a squawk or a hoot. Rather like watching a silent film or a flock of ghosts from the Pilgrim past. I wonder where they stay when the temperatures drop below zero and the wind is howling. I hope its somewhere safe and warm where the dogs don't bark and the soup is vegetarian.
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