Spirit animal

I was on my accustomed long morning walk. I had already reached the far side of the river. I had crossed both my bridges. There they were again. Turkeys! On a stone wall over the ice strewn Mississippi sat two enormous turkeys, looking at me searchingly. How long had they been waiting for me this time?

I tried and tried to get the noble, daffy moose to be the spirit animal of this blog, but to no avail. I would have been thrilled if a wolf stepped into the role. That did not happen, but I would also have been delighted for the fox or a coyote to be the spirit animal of clerkmanifesto. Either of those seemed so appropriate to our wily, ever so slightly disreputable tone. But it didn't work out that way. All my calls went unanswered. No, wait, one of my calls was picked up. It was picked up by a turkey. I don't know what it means that a turkey is the spirit animal around here.

The river turkeys are but five feet away from me on that wall. They are huge, iridescent, brown turkeys, nearly as big as I am. I am not terribly big, but in turkey terms, I am a hulking behemoth. So, thus, are they. I take a step towards them. The smaller of the turkeys flies into the river bluff and perches on a tree branch. That must be the trainee spirit turkey. My true spirit turkey is unphased by my approach. I am almost close enough to reach out and touch the bird. The bird does not look like it would mind. I am too shy.

Speak to me turkey! The turkey looks me in the eye. Oh, it's talking, it is talking, I just need to figure out how to hear.