Over Breakfast . . .

Six black buzzards roosting . . . waking up . . . hunting breakfast . . . ?  Five in one tall tree that rises above the brush on the opposite side of the Savannah marsh.  One on a dead tree trunk that shows up stark and white against the sky in the slant morning sun.  To the naked eye they look like odd black bulbous growths in the trees.  All are too far away for my camera, but visible through binoculars.  Their legs look like bare chicken bones against their black bellies.  Where are their heads?

Every now and again, one of these scary looking birds changes branches, which is what first attracted my attention.  Their wingspan is so wide they have to fly out of the tree and back in again just to move up a notch.   A loud rattle reaches across the quiet of the marsh with each re-entry.   In roosting position, and from this distance,  their wingtips and featherless white legs against black bodies and pale sky are their most noticeable features.

Now I see their heads are plain gray---not as shockingly ugly as the turkey vultures in Patricia Lichen's recent post, but ugly enough.  That's not a fair introduction to Ms. Lichen's great blog, though.  It's well worth your time for the environmental information, for Monday's nature quote, and for a chance to engage your mind and hand at creating your own haiku every Friday.

My six buzzards are actually American Black Vultures, the ID books tell me.   They have a funny way of squatting on their roosting boughs with their heads buried in their breast or wing feathers, a stance that makes them appear headless.   I wonder if their heads get cold without feathers.

Something in the marsh grass has attracted the lot of them.  Occasionally one or the other rattles down and disappears in the grass for some seconds.  Dead breakfast?  Perhaps it's no less revolting than our bacon.  dkm