They Come and Go

It was good to be out of the chair and up and moving again, perhaps a bit slower, but moving just the same.  I don't do sick or hurt very well; I get cranky.  Chores were a lot easier yesterday.

For days and days there have been turkeys around every corner, in every nook and cranny, and especially in the goat pen at night.  Therefore it was very strange at dusk when there was not one turkey in sight; none in the pen, none in the vineyard, none under or in the trees.  Where did they go and why?

I recently had the thought that it had been quite some time since I'd heard the beastie boys.  For awhile there, I heard them nearly every night, yipping and calling as they hunted in the hills.  As if that thought had conjured them, when the full moon rose last night, the coyotes gathered for choir practice and they sang.  They were not on the move and they did not yip and yodel; they sang a wild and beautiful song I've never heard before.  I stepped out on the deck.  Moonlight shining on snow in the pasture, voices raised in chorus; magical.