The deer must have been struck on that dark road during the night and after leaping one final time and fell in among the brush, brown, tan among the new spring growth,

not noticed by most passing by, busy on their way to work and play.

Not so for the vultures, they noticed as the growing scent of death gathered in the nostrils of the ones with the red heads, some soaring and others sitting in trees, close and far, they began to gather.

Some, from the high dead tree across the street, the ones that reach like skeleton fingers into the blue sky, providing their perch, a vantage point to gather and watch, with eyes that seem far away, featherless, black and red heads, sharp beaks and nostrils full of the scent of death.

First one from the skeleton tree and then more and more.landing away from the carcass then strutting over in their macabre walk on stilt like, bony legs.

Sometimes they chase others away with extended wings and drawn out hissing and grunting warnings to others not to take their share.

When this scene is finished those bones will bleach in the relentless sun and those black and red headed vultures wil rerurn, some to the sky, some to circle and said and some back to the bony skeleton fingers of dead trees.
T.S. Deary 

3/4/2020 – 3/12/2020