We have begun our descent into the grayness of November. The deer are entering their time of being libidinous and dumb, and arrow have already taken a few of the bucks.
But soon the guns will crack, and gut piles will be scattered throughout the land.
And the turkey vultures will glide through the sky, casting their nostrils into the air current for the scent of blood and bile and stinking rumen.
The will drop from the sky and eat their late autumn repast, and then fly up into bare trees to digest their grisly fare.
Odd among the avian kingdom, the turkey vulture has fine sense of smell, and the black vultures and the ravens are keyed into their wanderings.
Turkey vultures will soon be heading south. But maybe not. If the snows don’t fall, they’ll hang around to cast around on the air currents, fighting with the winter ravens as winter’s famine takes its toll upon the land.
I came across this big carrion bird on Saturday as I traipsed around in the first gloomy weekend of November. It had three companions that soon took to the wing at my approach.
But this vulture stayed put for a while longer, staring down at me with imperious disdain.
The great feast for the vultures is nigh. The gray skeleton trees and the rutting bucks mark its coming.
This one seems to know what it is coming along with the sinking sun.