We live on a farm surrounded by fields and trees. Every morning the turkeys arrive, graceful, sleek bodies like low flying planes cross the fence and extend their legs like landing gear waiting for feet to touch the grassy fields as they slow from run to walk. There are as many as twenty or thirty in the mornings. They strut about like men on the hunt. There is light banter and much jostling for position as the hens saunter from the woods behind the fields. The dominant males make themselves large, plumage on display and beards wagging, walking back and forth, back and forth in front of the hens.
I watch this from my porch, quietly standing by so as not to disturb this morning ritual. It is fascinating to watch the likeness of birds and man. We see ourselves as advanced beings, self aware, smart and above nearly every other living thing and yet our basic instinct is the same, to be seen and to be heard. To be relevant.
After nearly an hour of socializing and by mutual consent, everyone leaves to participate in the rest of their day. The hens move back towards the trees and the males walk back across the road. They leave in pairs of two or three, walking slowly across the green grass. Two dark, glossy birds amble down my driveway commiserating about their lack of relevance. Their grumbling continues as they round the corner and disappear down the embankment towards the lake. Just another couple of turkeys on a fine spring day.