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It's just another evening at the camp. Sitting outside in the yard watching the evening sunset. Down under the road bank to my left I can hear squirrels barking and running in the fallen leaves. 75 yards to my right is a little doe nibbling on kernels of corn that have fallen from that 6 gallon bucket hanging from a tree.Gazing upwards just to the right of that western sunset the sky is filled with a strange sight. From the North,South,East, and West. It's the majestic gliding of 150 buzzards meeting in the middle and forming a hughe circling pattern. Like 747's circling OHara their on final approach for a 1/2 acre lot of white pines on top of a rock cliff overlooking the lake. From a quarter mile high down down down they spiral one by one. Each choosing his own runway. Third pine tree from the left looks good as down comes the landing gear.It's early to bed and early rise. Morning flights leave at 6 on Road Kill Patrol.
