“may my heart be always open to little
birds who are the secret of living…” e. e. cummings (source: “may my heart always be open”, inwardoutward.org)
In the early fall days, before the government changes the sunrise, my morning walk happens just as the sun is rising. Then the earth is pregnant with promise. It is the time that even turkeys fly.
Turkeys, another of God’s curious creations, which must bring a smile to the heavenly host, are not fleet of foot, or claw, or whatever you call that appendage. They are not aerodynamically fit for fast. And, while turkeys wouldn’t seem to have much of a brain, they have figured out that they will live longer sleeping in trees than on the ground. Foxes may be faster, but they cannot climb trees. So, each night, after a day of walking around their territory, pecking away at the ground in search of food, they have to summon up the strength to fly up a tree. I have not seen this in person, but I imagine it to be a hard task, getting the wings going sufficiently fast to lift their rotund bodies up into a gravity-defying flight. It must be like me trying to get out of my reading chair before bed, a time full of creaks and groans.
But then, just after sunrise, they see the day has begun. (I wonder if they are surprised?) What awaits them today is the same as awaited them all their yesterdays and all their tomorrows: the opportunity to work at finding food and shelter, raising their family of tiny turkeys, and, if the season is right, making new turkeys. But before they can begin their day on the ground they have the once-a-day opportunity to soar like an eagle. I saw them, one after the other, eight all together, soaring from above the tree line, gliding on the air, floating with the greatest of ease down to their stomping ground.
When turkeys fly like that it must be exhilarating for them. Once a day they soar, they seize the day. And they know, tomorrow they get do it again. God is good.