In the last trip down to Williston, I drove into the back yard, into the tall, unmown grass. I was there to get another load of my fathers belongings, and carry them back to Lake City. The pasture was void of the two dozen or so cows Mr Cross had kept there since April.
The power had been turned off to the property last week, and thus there was no water for them.
All was quiet and somber. Then, along the back fence row, six turkeys were spotted slowly making their way from under the tall oaks.
As on cue I stopped my loading and got the camera from the front seat. I walked deliberately toward them, knowing they had already seen me. I was able to get this shot as the first turkey took wing over the fence. The rest soon followed with the last one, not wanting to fly, frantically pacing up and down the fence before flying over.
And then they were gone. And I resumed the loading of a past also gone.
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