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Dimitri and Lazarus
The Wisdom of the Elderly (at Least in the World of Turkey Vultures)
Dimitri & Lazarus were at it again; it’d been that way for four autumns in a row.
“Pay attention,” Dimitri would say. “I know this part of the world. I was born here.”
“And I wasn’t?” Lazarus would argue, at which point Dimitri would ruffle his feathers, stretch out his bald neck, and play the age card.
“Crossing the strait isn’t for kids,” he’d say. “This is my fifteenth year, Lazarus. It’s dangerous. You know that.”
But Lazarus wasn’t listening.
His eyes were fixed on Belladonna, the hottest vulture in their committee.
“I’m sick of waiting,” Lazarus said, stretching out his wings for Belladonna to admire. “Let’s go!”
But the young vulture’s ignorance did not warrant a reply, and Dimitri flew off toward the nearby highway, hopeful for fresh roadkill.
On the last day of September, Dimitri announced to the 107 birds on the beach that “it was time.”
The waters were warm enough.
The winds were favourable, and the thermals would never be better.
