As kids in Maryland my brothers and I would spend the bulk of the day outside, roaming the woods, not so much looking for trouble as pushing the boundaries of the acceptable. One of the games we would play would be to lay down still in a grassy area to see if we could coax a circling vulture into believing we were dinner. I do not recall this ploy ever working, and I am not sure what we would have done if it had. I imagine three screaming dots on the horizon. The vulture’s fearsome aspect was the very thing we found so interesting I guess, like going to horror movies and glancing away at the scary parts.
Here in North Carolina I will see clusters of vultures on the ground at the side of the road. I know what it is they are doing; no coaxing or boyish trickery is in play here. They are
merely performing their duties as described in The Book Of Things. It may be incorrect to think of vultures being good, but they are clearly necessary and perhaps — in the way of all creatures great and small — endowed with a form of grace.
One of the first summer jobs I had as a teen was that of janitor at a small business. I would arrive just as the staff were going home, me with my mop, broom and pail. I would clean in silence room by room, erasing the detritus of living beings so that industry could continue unimpeded by dirt and debris. There is an honesty in that, this cleaning up as we go, making way for the new sun.
whoisfenton 