I meant to write about this a little while back, but that evening it kind of skipped my mind.
The other day I pulled into our driveway after picking up Micah from Daycare, when I saw something that caused me to gradually bring my car to a stop.
Now, normally most people bring their cars to stops in their driveways. That is the point of the driveway. If you didn’t in fact stop the car driveways would instead be short and rather tragic roads.
What made this particular cessation of motion note worthy was that it was done more from a vague sense of shock, well short of the garage.
As my car creeped ever more slowly forward, a single turkey strutted its way across my driveway.
I’ve only ever seen turkeys from a distance. Usually they’re marching across the far end of an empty field or weaving in and around the trees of a wild forest. The point is that I’ve only ever seen them on the edge of things, the interface between civilization and the world.
My driveway hardly qualifies as the edge of things. I’m the second house in on a full block of houses, in the middle of a rather large town. It’s not even as if I live in a newly finished subdivision that forced local wildlife to rehabitat away from the deep wild. The houses in the neighborhood range from fifty to a hundred years old or more.
Yet here was this turkey, strutting away around the corner of the garage, along the property line.
Just goes to show that you can never be sure where you’ll find that edge.
