"Delay is natural to a writer. He is like a surfer—he bides his time. Waits for the perfect wave on which to ride in. He waits for the surge (of emotion? of strength? of courage?) that will carry him along." (E.B. White, The Paris Review Interviews, 1969)
7.12.2008
The Wild Turkeys are Gone
About two weeks ago, sport and I noticed a pair of young wild turkeys hanging out near our apartment complex.
They weren't particularly aggressive, but they were not very alarmed when we walked or drove by (sometimes close enough to touch). One evening we heard what sounded like mournful screeching from one of them. We imagined the other had died because we had not seen them together in two days. Of course, the next day, both were in the herb/flower garden strutting around happily.
We haven't seen these two welcome visitors in a week. Hope they made it to the river safely, or at least to a bigger garden.
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2 comments:
I miss the little buggers
That's what happens when you drink 'em!
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