Turkeys In The Mist


Cold and damp, again I have the tent window flaps closed to hold in my body heat. Early dawn light seeps in through the tent fabric, vague and tentative. I squish my eyes shut tight and burrow deeper under the blankets. Then I hear what it was that woke me; a loud warbling gargling, gobble gobble gobble, close by. I sit up and partially unzip a window to peer out. I see only a curling whitish grey mist trailing through the wet leafless grey and brown trees, hovering, obscuring vision into a dream like state. Gobble gobble gobble, I hear the turkeys walking, throwing leaves with their beaks in search of breakfast, but I can not see them. Gobble gobble gobble, further away now, moving slowly along the forest floor gabbing and gobbling. The moist cold air has sunk into my awareness, I close the window flap again, curl back up under the covers, and search for the dropped hand warmer that I used to fall asleep with last night. It still emanates warmth that I hold against my neck. Gobble gobble gobble I hear far enough away now that it could have been my imagination, as I drift back to sleep.


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