Hey, Turkey.
I was walking through the woods in the rain today, where the green lichen was brighter than the gray sky above. Upon a soft sponge ground that has had enough of the melting snow.
It’s an exposed wire-frame representation of pure transition, the wait that encompasses most of our time. Sulking water, stuck between frozen and flowing.
Five juvenile turkeys surprised me in a bleak clearing by the water’s edge at Onteora Lake. We all slowed down to get a load of one another. These were some badass birds, sauntering, aloof. They held twigs in their beaks, pretending to smoke unfiltered Lucky Strikes, the steam rising up off the forest floor.
A change is gonna come. A faint pulse. Warm life, breathless in the wings.