At bedtime, in the gathering darkness, I looked out my window and spotted the blobs high in the treetop - they were turkeys at roost in an oak tree maybe fifty feet or so off the ground.
The next morning, following hours of heavy rain in the darkness and still raining in the dawning light, there they were, right where they had been all through the night for the preceding eight hours or so, roosting at the treetop, safe from surface predators but, in a driving rainstorm.
Next time I am tempted to complain that where I sleep is too hot, too cold, too many blankets, not enough blankets, too hard, too soft, too noisy, too quiet, the air too dry, the air too damp - I will try and remember to be a turkey and to rejoice that I have human life.
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