On a cool morning, the air clear enough to allow my hand-me-down radio to pick up signals, finally, from beyond the nearest hills, the local winged harbingers of death were partyin' over my neighbor's place.
As my ever-eager canine towed me down the dusty road that brightened with the sun's advances, about twenty vultures circled above the ranch.
They were beautiful. That's not something you often hear about turkey vultures.
Depending on how you look at things, vultures are downright ugly or amazing. Their appearance is far from what we think of as cute. They feed on dead things. We usually interpret their circling as a sign that some creature has died or is well on its way.
When I saw them I wondered if the dear and annoying young beagle who visits my porch had succumbed to her more neglected existence on the ranch. But then I noticed, as my own dog and I trudged closer to the fly zone, that not a wing was flapping.
The birds were simply enjoying a thermal -- coasting, circling, soaring -- and the biggest clue that they weren't vying for a chance at a decaying specimen: The whole group drifted over a span of about a mile, all the while continuing to float high above. Wings spread wide, effortless, and weightless. Cavorting over ranchland and road, but not to meet the usual survival needs.
Thoughts of my own past attempt at flying, with a parachute, from a perfectly good plane, come to mind. If you've never done it, do it. There's no good reason, but there's no experience like it. Trying to explain the feeling is a lot like taking snapshots of the Grand Canyon. I did that, too, and I don’t recommend it.
Today I watched as the local aerial dance troupe performed, for their own pure enjoyment, to lift their hearts, soothe their souls, recharge their batteries, refresh their tissues. They can do all these things on their own, but today they wanted to play together.
I got lucky.
As my ever-eager canine towed me down the dusty road that brightened with the sun's advances, about twenty vultures circled above the ranch.
They were beautiful. That's not something you often hear about turkey vultures.
Depending on how you look at things, vultures are downright ugly or amazing. Their appearance is far from what we think of as cute. They feed on dead things. We usually interpret their circling as a sign that some creature has died or is well on its way.
When I saw them I wondered if the dear and annoying young beagle who visits my porch had succumbed to her more neglected existence on the ranch. But then I noticed, as my own dog and I trudged closer to the fly zone, that not a wing was flapping.
The birds were simply enjoying a thermal -- coasting, circling, soaring -- and the biggest clue that they weren't vying for a chance at a decaying specimen: The whole group drifted over a span of about a mile, all the while continuing to float high above. Wings spread wide, effortless, and weightless. Cavorting over ranchland and road, but not to meet the usual survival needs.
Thoughts of my own past attempt at flying, with a parachute, from a perfectly good plane, come to mind. If you've never done it, do it. There's no good reason, but there's no experience like it. Trying to explain the feeling is a lot like taking snapshots of the Grand Canyon. I did that, too, and I don’t recommend it.
Today I watched as the local aerial dance troupe performed, for their own pure enjoyment, to lift their hearts, soothe their souls, recharge their batteries, refresh their tissues. They can do all these things on their own, but today they wanted to play together.
I got lucky.
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