The leisured buzzard floats upon the breeze,
Riding a crescent cloud for endless hours . . .
When I returned home from Rocky Mount about noon on Friday, I saw a flock of black buzzards
across the road.
I wondered what they were doing, so I walked over to take a look. Odds were good they were eating something, but what?
I didn't go all the way into their midst. I just went close enough to see if they might be chowing down on a critter I might know. It looked like they might have a possum corpse—or possibly a raccoon. I didn't go close enough to see for sure, but it looked like the remains of a wild critter.
When they saw me, some took flight. They're lovely and graceful in flight, ugly when you see them close up.
But they soon returned to finish their repast. Buzzards—or vultures to city folk—perform a necessary service by cleaning up carrion. Otherwise, it would rot.
This flock did what it had to do and then moved on.
Labels: rural life