Wild, wild turkeys couldn’t …

I’ve been promising myself, or perhaps threatening, to quit posting my meandering thoughts in inappropriate places and start a blog.  The idea being that reading me will be voluntary.  I’ve been thinking about this for years.

Today, while trying to photograph the W. Va Fur and Root sign that hangs in my kitchen, I noticed that the flock of wild turkeys were back.  The area I live in, a semi-rural area non pareil, has been undergoing explosive development.  My little piece of wild & wonderful has been getting a little less wild, but no less wonderful unless you count the spider infestation.  With some uneasiness it occurred to me that I hadn’t seen the phenomenally ugly old tom and his flock of willing followers for a goodly while.  I was fretting.

There he was.  This guy has stories to tell.  He’s quite tall, quite ancient and hideously scarred.  He’s been through a lot and I was glad to see that he’s still with us.  His flock is a noisy lot and the cacophony of of turkey chatter defies description on a qwerty keyboard.  I smiled to see him and the ladies looking for food under the wild rose.

So.  There I was with a digital picture of my beloved sign and a story to tell that was probably of no interest to anyone but me.  I fired up the laptop, set up an account, and here we are.  Or here I am.  And so, wild, wild turkeys couldn’t drag keep me away.