Turkey Vulture Dreams

I wonder what the turkey vulture sees from so high–the perspective gleaned from looking down upon us all.  With nary a flap of their wings they can stay aloft for hours, lifted by  thermals that fill them with confidence and support slow descents or gracious climbs. 

I wonder if those static soarers are more highly evolved than humans.  They have traded in chevrolets and heartaches for summer drafts and nourishing carcasses.  Their love may be different than ours–although I’ve never seen them with their mates or chicks.  Methinks they take turns parenting so that their partner can get back to gliding and searching with clear vision for the animal perished by the road side.

I wonder if the turkey vulture would trade with me for one cloudless spring afternoon.  I would be aloft as the sun beat down, no thoughts in my mind–just knowing that I am the wind and the invisible that supports hollowed out wing-bones and feathers.  I am the man who drives to work and dreams of flying away. My wings are not yet formed–perhaps my mind brings them into being.  Until then I will wonder aloud to the turkey vultures circling in my dreams and beckoning me forth.