Gobbler

Along Canterbury St, not as far as the juvenile detention center or the pre-release facility, but in fact just opposite St. Michael's Cemetery, I saw behind the iron palings of the Forest Hills cemetery what looked like a stuffed black plastic bag. On closer inspection, it was you, Mr Turkey, nestled in a shallow depression and enjoying the sun of this wonderfully warm late December day.

In fact, you are gorgeous. Blue-white head, flecks of bittersweet berry red along your back, blue flashes on your wings, tail feathers the tawny color of oak leaves. You lifted your head to consider me, but were in no rush to move, perhaps understanding well the uses of fences.

I've see your kind strutting along the edge of the road, even sometimes in full display with several females behind, though that not near here. You were reintroduced to the state more than 40 years ago and you've made yourself at home everywhere here.  Wily, confident, sometimes aggressive, you're the same bird that Pilgrims might have feasted on near 400 years ago.

What struck me, however, in our encounter was how attractive your colors are. What a flashy dresser! It doesn't take my heart as it would a hen's, but if I were wearing a hat this beautiful day, I would doff it to you.