Yardwork

I was cleaning the yard the other day, raking together the ghosts of last summer's plants, pulling out the ivy aiming at world domination and so on.  As usual, I ended up sitting on my heels in the dead flower beds, with my hands muddy and full of thorns. 

I heard a rustling sound, turned my head, expecting a neighbor, and looked up into the face of a wild tom turkey.  Polite good days were exchanged.