Reading the news with my morning coffee, my mood worsened with each story: Twenty people killed and 450 injured by exploding devices in Beirut. Sean "P Diddy" Combs, millionaire superstar rapper, will rot in jail waiting for his trial on sex trafficking charges. Tupperware declares bankruptcy. Several attendees sitting behind Trump at one of his rallies were sprayed with toxic eye irritants that sent them to the ER. A new children's Golden Book tells the story of the romance between Travis Kelce and Taylor Swift. Putin calls up more troops to fight Ukraine. Wrong-way crash killed three on a Michigan highway.
And more like that. My good mood was replaced with a dark sense of foreboding about the future. Then, suddenly, a flock of turkeys exited from the woods behind our house, arriving one by one and filling the backyard. There was an obvious Mom and Dad and 14 youngsters, each one pecking in the grass for food. It was thrilling to see them hopping around and flapping their wings, running this way and that and looking like they had not a care in the world.
The awesome sight brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to shout at them to get away, go back to the forest, leave civilization before Thanksgiving when hundreds of thousands of their kind will be killed and eaten by hundreds of thousands of our kind, but instead chose not to disturb their breakfast.
When they left I was filled with a profound sadness, finally understanding how Tony Soprano felt when the ducks left his swimming pool.
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