I see art in the turkeys who come to our yard daily. I see beauty and wonder as they drink from the old, metal bucket we keep filled with water, tilting their heads back once they've filled their mouths with a swallow so that the liquid can go down and quench and fill. I am delighted to watch them peck and scratch at the dirt, and, sometimes, sit in it.

They haven't brought their babies here to drink for more than two years now. I wish they would, but I'm content just to see them live and move and have their being right outside our kitchen window.