Slim Randles' Home Country

From chicken to buzzards

[August 31, 2013]  The evening was one of those that come back to you time after time, year after long year. It comes back and whispers of how good life can be when you're well fed, enjoying life, and a good friend shares the front porch with you on a summer's evening.

It was that way with Doc and Steve the other night. Doc thought he might have to do a scientific paper on the soporific effects of ice tea, fried chicken and corn on the cob. As long as it didn't take any effort.

So when this huge meal had been bullsnaked down, the two grinning friends came out to the porch to watch the sun go down behind the trees along Lewis Creek. The air had that orange and russet glow, and the breeze, that little one that caresses the neck, came slowly down from the hills and made their shirt collars wiggle ever so slightly.

It was like taking a dry bath in paradise.

Doc sidled up to one of the porch posts and gently tested it to see if it could hold the extra weight he was carrying with that meal. It stood fine, so he leaned against it seriously and looked out on the evening's warmth.

Steve, who had enjoyed having a fine meal that someone else cooked for a change, leaned against the post on the other side of the steps.

And then they just stood quietly, watching the day make beautiful skies as it ended.

The shadow on the ground foretold the presence of the circling bird. Doc and Steve paid no attention at first. Then a few minutes later, it was joined by two more circling birds over Doc's house.

"Buzzards," Steve mumbled.

"Yep," said Doc.

They circled some more.

"I think one of us should move a little ..." said Doc.

"Move?"

"Well ... to let them know ... you know."

Steve sighed, then glanced over at Doc. "Flip you for it."

[Text from file received from Slim Randles] 

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