During my daily walks around my subdivision, I can’t help but notice that one of my neighbors has a vulture infestation.
That’s right – a whole covey or flock (or whatever) of vultures, of all beasties, have taken to lining up in a row across the very peak of his roof.
Now vultures aren’t cute like sparrows or doves; they’re huge, black, hulking preditors with scary, hungry eyes, dagger-like talons and an ominous, sharp beak that could rip a body to shreds. And often does.
But the thing is, vultures eat dead things. They’re raptorial birds that exist almost entire on carrion. If a creature is running, hopping, limping, or even still squirming, they won’t touch it. They’ll wait patiently, stalking the poor critter until it finally kicks the bucket.
So I wonder what the heck those vultures on that roof are waiting for? They wouldn’t be hanging around if there wasn’t plenty to eat. They’d take off for deader pastures.
Now this puzzles me.
The more I think about it, I begin to wonder if maybe I don’t have vultures on my own roof. Maybe not the beak and feathers kind, but some sort of nasty, formless, spiritual predators who continue to lurk around because I keep them well fed with dead stuff.
Yep, I discard tons of dead stuff … failed relationships, half-cocked ideas that I never got around to thinking through to fruition, projects that I started but never completed. A vulture’s smorgasboard of demise, dissolution and decay.
They’re up there, circling, hovering, waiting. I just know it.
I don’t want them peering at me with their black, beady eyes any more, stalking me … waiting on me to falter at something else so they can sink their bloody talons in.
So what do you think? How do I shake the vulture paranoia and shoo the horrible creatures away?
(Stay tuned for the next installment of vulture fumigation 101!)
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