Turkeys (Entry Four)

Today I was doing homework in my room when I saw a group of turkeys roaming around in the yard.  I thought turkeys would be a fun topic for this week’s blog, since I hadn’t written one yet.  However when I went outside, the sound of the door opening and closing sent the turkeys trotting off into my neighbor’s yard.  I decided to sit at the table on our patio and watch the turkeys from afar. 

I didn't get to watch them for long.  The turkeys spent a few minutes extending their long necks down into the grass of my neighbor’s yard – I don’t know if they were eating or doing something else.  I don’t even know what turkeys eat.  Maybe they eat grass.  After they finish pecking into the grass, they wander off into the woods.  I watched until I couldn't see them anymore, until they ambled away into a tangled mess of trees, grass, and leaves. 

Turkeys are funny animals, I’ve learned.  There were only three in the group I saw today, but sometimes groups (called “rafters” I found out via Google) of twenty or so turkeys wander through my yard.  They walk in the most hilarious way.  With each step, the turkey sticks his head several inches farther out than it seems like it needs to go.  Then the turkey’s head kind of bobs back toward its body, and the process repeats.  This is called strutting, at least I think.  We’ve all heard of turkeys strutting, but it’s really interesting to see one actually do it in person. 

Sometimes when I’m driving down my street, these turkeys will be trying to cross (usually in a group – I’ve never actually seen a turkey walking around on its own.  Perhaps they’re social animals).  When I stop to let the turkeys cross, they look at my car for a second or two, take two or three normal-paced steps, and then break into a strange sort of trot-run combination.  When they get to the other side of the street, they resume their normal pace.  I like to think the turkeys are being considerate by hurrying across the street, but they might just be trying to avoid getting crushed by my antiquated but reliable Hyundai.  They always remind me of the pedestrians you see running across crosswalks in parking lots and giving a little thank you wave.  I’ve read that turkeys are loyal and dignified animals, and I don’t doubt it.  They’re certainly seem to be the friendliest wild birds I’ve ever encountered.  

Time (Entry 3)

The grass in my yard is so green.  I’m sitting in the yard, right on the edge of the woods.  I don’t know why the grass looks so green today.  Maybe it’s the way the sun is hitting it.  Maybe it’s my new glasses.  Maybe the vibrancy I’m seeing is only in my mind.  Maybe I’m imagining this little detail because I have to start this blog somewhere, and the grass was the first thing that I noticed.  Whatever’s going on, this grass has caught my attention, which is no small feat for grass.  I mean, it’s grass – not exactly the most exciting thing in nature. 

It’s warm out, my phone says 85 degrees, but the leaves on the trees reveal more about time than the deceiving temperature and sunshine.  It’s early October, and I look up at the trees, noticing shades of red, orange, and yellow invading the leaves.  Soon their summer-time green color will be a memory, at least until the spring. 

I think about time a lot.  Every year the leaves change colors, and every year I’m always surprised.  Not completely surprised (after all, I know this change is coming), but surprised by how quickly autumn creeps up on me.  I wonder if a year will ever come when I won’t feel a little bit shocked by what I have thus far always perceived as an abrupt change. 

My cat, Sassy, is outside, stalking around the yard.  I can’t say what she’s looking for, if she’s looking for anything at all.  She doesn’t seem to notice the start of the change in seasons.  I wonder if cats (or animals in general) have any concept of time.  They don’t think in hours and minutes, I suppose – they can’t read clocks, at least I don’t think.  I imagine they can differentiate between night and day, but to what extent?  If the sun didn’t rise one morning, would Sassy notice that something was wrong? 

Sassy walks over and sprawls out on the warm cement of the patio.  I walk over, sit by her, and pet her.  She purrs.  I hope she’ll be this happy in the winter, even if it snows.  

Sassy